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THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 




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Bronson Howard 



THE 



AMERICAN DRAMATIST 



MONTROSE J. MOSES 



AUTHOR OF *' THE LITERATURE OF THE SOUTH," " HENRIK 
THE MAN AND HIS PLAYS," ETC. 



SECOND EDITION, REVISED 



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INON-REFERT 




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BOSTON 

LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 

1917 






^1^ 



Copyright, 1911, 1917 
By LiTixE, Broavn, & Company. 



All rights reserved 




J. Pabkhill & Co., Boston, U.S. A. 



JUN 28 1917 
©CLM70105 



TO 

the memory of 
Three American Dramatists 

Bronson Howard 
James A. Herne 
Clyde Fitch 



PEEFACE 

There is no book treating distinctively of the American 
Dramatist and his work. This volume is therefore designed 
to meet a want which some day will be felt, though at present 
the literary critic contents himself in the belief that there 
is no American drama, and never has been. Be this as it 
may, the activity has none the less existed, and no literary 
treatise has dealt with it properly. 

The task has been a very agreeable one, but not easy, 
for the material is scattered, and each year becomes more 
chaotic. If the student of the drama does not begin to realize 
that dramatic records must be preserved, there will never 
be any hope for the future literary historian who might 
desire to consider the evolution of American drama. The 
cop3Tight law governing theatre literature should require 
at least one copy of a play registered in Washington, pro- 
vided, of course, it has been given adequate production. 

Such precaution would assure to the student that which 
is his by right — the means of following a certain art ac- 
tivity which, even though it cannot now stand the test 
of pure literary comparison, at least appealed to popular 
taste and reflected popular interest. 

Had it not been for the whole-souled assistance rendered 
me at every turn, this book would have been impossible to 
write. I have had access to private papers, I have spent 
many pleasant and profitable hours examining manuscripts, 
and studying personalities. These are the attractive moments 
that give human value to work which could be readily 
swamped in detail. 

vii 



viii PREFACE 

But research requires patience, and one is brought sud- 
denly to a grim realization of its slowness. When this book 
was begun, A. M. Palmer was alive; during its initial period 
I profited by the unfailing help and encouragement of Bron- 
son Howard, and later I was made to feel the necessity for 
such a book thi'ough the splendid enthusiasm of Clyde 
Fitch. Chapters written then have had to be altered be- 
cause these men are dead. But they are not forgotten 
even though the literary critic fail to recognize them. 

The American drama is a fact; it has a body, whatever 
the value of its spirit. In its local sense, it is a reflection 
of local condition and type characteristics; in its technical 
sense, it exhibits special mannerisms, and shows itself sub- 
jected to special influences. The American dramatist has 
evolved from certain social factors, and his product — the 
American drama — has developed by reason of theatrical 
economics. There are always definite reasons to be found 
for every literary activity. If at one time the American stage 
was filled with American types of similar cartoon value, 
such was the accepted convention of the time; if there was 
more French attitude than American in the early society 
drama, it was because French technique was being imitated; 
if Bronson Howard has a right to the title of Dean of the 
American Drama, he must have stemmed a current that 
opposed him; if journalism dominates our stage to-day, 
there must be some reason for the reportorial treatment of 
most of our present native drama. 

I have tried to carry out this plan in the following pages: 
to emphasize the individual contributions to the idea of an 
American drama, to summarize the striking qualities of 
dramatists who are original in position, to enumerate the 
social and economic causes affecting the theatre, and through 
the theatre hmiting the dramatist's work. 

Since this book was fu'st written, many changes have 



PREFACE ix 

taken place in the drama, both as relates to its spirit and to 
its external functioning. I have added three new chapters 
to the material herewith offered, indicating the rise of new 
dramatists, the influence of Little Theatres, and the advance 
in the technique of the moving-picture. I have left the other 
chapters as they were when first v/ritten, not thinking it 
necessary to go into the small details of change which have 
occurred since 1910. 

For example, on page 247, 1 have referred to the possibility 
of a stadium being erected in New York City. This stadium 
has been erected, and has been put in use: first, for the 
exploitation of Greek drama under the direction of Gran- 
ville Barker; then as a setting for the stupendous Shake- 
speare Tercentenary Masque, "Caliban," written by Percy 
Mackaye; and finally for grand opera in the open. The 
use of the stadium, as a theatre, at New York City College, 
and at Harvard University, together with the playing of 
"Iphigenia in Tauris," in the Yale Bowl, have had no 
appreciable effect, thus far, in indicating to the American 
Dramatist that the stadium, as a theatrical setting, is of any 
great value. Due to the rise of pageantry, it may be 
that the stadium will, in the future, be utilized as a theatre 
for the Democracy. But, unless the American Dramatist 
is to be a writer of pageants, like Dr. Thomas Wood Stevens, 
the subject is one which has no place in a book of this 
character. 

My indebtedness is great, largely measured by a bibhog- 
raphy which I have compiled for the benefit of the Ameri- 
can student. This bibliography, with the one appended to 
my "Famous Actor-Families of America," in general covers 
the field of theatrical activity in this country. 

In particular, I wish to acknowledge the courtesy shown 
me by the library authorities of Columbia University. The 
New York Public Library contains a most valuable col- 



X PREFACE 

lection of material, which has yet to be properly sorted. 
To Mrs. James A. Heme, Professor Brander Matthews, 
Mr. Percy Mackaye, and others, I take this opportunity of 
extending my thanks for their generous desire to aid me. 

My thanks are also due to the Editors of The Book 
News Monthly, The Independent, The Bellman, The Forum, 
and The Theatre Magazine for permission to use certain 
articles which I have published from time to time. 

Montrose J. Moses. 
May 29, 1917. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Preface vii 

Chapter 

I Drama as a Social Force 1 

II The Essentials of an American Play . 11 

III The Trend of American Drama from 

1750 TO 1870 37 

IV Our Literary and our Closet-Drama. . 59 
V Bronson Howard: Dean of the Ameri- 
can Drama 73 

VI James A. Herne and the Realistic Drama 90 
VII David Belasco and the Psychology of 

the Switchboard Ill 

VIII The Case of Percy Mackaye and His 

Father 135 

IX The Cardboard Play and the Well- 
Made Play: Augustus Thomas and 

William Gillette 154 

X Concerning Clyde Fitch and the Local 

Sense 169 

XI Concerning Melodrama 186 

XII The Kinetoscopic Theatre 200 

XIII The Progress of the Moving-Picture 

since 1910 215 



xii CONTENTS 

Chapter Page 

XIV Should the Poetic Drama be Dramatized 227 

XV Sunlight, Moonlight, and Footlight . 239 

XVI Forms of American Drama 251 

XVII A New or a National Theatre . . . 276 
XVIII The Advance of American Drama since 

1910 289 

XIX The Craze for Little Theatres . . . 309 

XX The Need for a Dramatic Library . . 341 
XXI The Disintegration and Regeneration 

OF THE Theatre 352 

XXII L'Envoie 367 

Bibliography 379 

Index 395 



LIST OF PORTRAITS 

Page 
Bronson Howard Frontispiece 

Edwin Milton Royle 13 

Channing Pollock 16 

William Vaughn Moody 24^ 

Charles Klein 33^ 

Richard Harding Davis 37* 

Augustin Daly 57" 

Rachel Crothers 83' 

James A. Heme 92 

David Belasco 112*" 

A. M. Palmer 117- 

Henry C. De MiUe 135^ 

Percy MacKaye and Charles Rann Kennedy .... 140' 

Steele MacKaye 144 

Augustus Thomas 160' 

William Gillette 166' 

Clyde Fitch 170^ 

Dion Boucicault 188- 

Josephine Preston Peabody 229 

Edward Harrigan 271^ 

George Ade 274' 

Minnie Maddern Fiske 283^ 

Charles Hoyt 346 

Rupert Hughes 377'' 



y^ 



THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 



CHAPTER-^ I 

DRAMA AS A SOCIAL FORCE 

We are so prone to pin our faith to terms, that we are quite 
in danger of receiving a distorted idea of drama as art, and 
of the theatre as a social institution. It is well to note that 
frenzied drama has been tried and found wanting. After 
all, it is bad economics to shut one's eyes to the character 
of popular, average returns on one's investments. It is 
incumbent upon us to lay significant stress upon the moral 
accountability of the theatre to the civic body as a civic 
institution, and of the playvvright to the community as a 
citizen. But the manager has a right to expect some tangible 
response from his audiences in exchange for amusement given 
them. The freedom of the theatre from the calculating 
touch of commercialism would be only one of the agents to 
call forth the best energies of the citizen-plaj^wright in 
America. 

The endowed institution, much less a subsidized theatre, 
would not alone create the art demand, would not alone 
call forth the highest type of communal expression, would 
not alone establish the poet as dramatist, even though he 
might have his hand upon the pulse of the people. There is 
a deeper education to be done first; for in every true move- 
ment which has carried the world forward in its progressive 
growth, the real dramatist has risen above conditions, and, 
by seeming acceptance of physical and formal convention, 
has, in the end, forced convention with him. 



2 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Critics of the theatre are prone to rush headlong into a 
most compHcated of machines, and expect to change in the 
twinkhng of an eye the whole social, economic, aesthetic, and 
spiritual organism of the institution. At least it were wiser 
to take conditions as they are, rather than to supplant them 
with chimerical and untried theories. For everyone will 
agree that in the education of theatre audiences, the first 
essential is to begin with the audiences; not to close the 
vaudeville houses to them, but to make them challenge the 
validity of their fragmentary amusement, and to think on 
the possible enjoyment of higher things. The American 
theatre manager of the present has much on his side of the 
argument, when he holds fast to certain types of theatrical 
successes, until he is assured of a different demand; until 
he is certain that his change of bill will guarantee him 
against loss. 

The greatest hope of the theatre to-day rests with the 
people. The first expressions of communal art came from 
the people; the Greek drama developed from a national 
sentiment and from a national religious custom. The modern 
stage came into existence through a church necessity and by 
way of vulgar tongue and guild support. So we see that, 
institutionally, the art of representing life has always been 
called into use for social purposes. However much it has 
been elaborated from the old wcero or tribal songs of grief, 
and from the tropes of the church service; however much it 
has departed from the dithyrambic chorus, it has made its 
appeal to the crowd. The theatre that is cut aloof from the 
crowd, if it is not altogether impossible, is at least so anaemic 
that its energies are squandered for want of the red blood 
of popular appreciation. The whole art value of drama is 
at first determined by the extent of its instant appeal to a 
crowd; and there are as many types of drama as there are 
broad communal appeals. 



DRAMA AS A SOCIAL FORCE 3 

The mistaken idea has long been held that the play is a 
thing governed wholly by the caprice of the dramatist. 
The theatre is always close to life, and exists by reason of 
communal sanction. Even artificial comedy grew out of 
the prevalence of artificial manner. Dramatic form has in 
turn been moulded to receive the content, and has been 
changed as the content was changed; this is best seen in a 
comparison of "OEdipus" with Ibsen's "Ghosts." The 
dramatic treatment of the mysteries of life, as they react 
upon the individual, has been modified in accordance with 
the highest individual action toward those very mysteries. 
Hence the progress from the Greek idea of Fate, to the meta- 
physical concern for the individual soul, to the modern con- 
ception of heredity — almost as inexorable as Fate — and 
finally to the collectivist concern for social regeneration, 
which seems to be the color of American drama. 

It makes no difference how you approach the drama — 
whether from its physical, its technical, or its economic 
side — the crowd is always concerned, and very largely 
determines, through public opinion, the dramatist's ten- 
dency, even as he, if he be big enough, reinforces or 
determines the crowd's cast of thought. 

In the opening pages of his book on "Social Forces in 
German Literature," Professor Kuno Francke writes: 

"The fundamental conception which underlies the fol- 
lowing account ... is that of a continued struggle between 
individualistic and collectivistic tendencies, between man 
and society, between personality and tradition, between 
liberty and unity, between cosmopolitanism and nationality 
— a struggle which may be said to be the prime motive 
power of all human progress." 

Undoubtedly, from such a conflict we are certain of obtain- 
ing a moving literature as well as a contemplative one. 
Through it, there is the dramatic impulse, the theatrical 



4 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

clash, the hfe force — on the one hand seeing intensely, on 
the other dreaming truly; and who knows but the time is 
now at hand in America when this social impulse shall again 
lead to our prophesying boldly? 

In all that pertains to the greatest literature, dramatic or 
otherwise, the one tremendous law of life is that it must flow 
through us, purging the soul of its impurities, even though 
in doing so it deal with the impure, for the purpose of 
correcting evil. Modern social drama, as represented by 
Ibsen, Hauptmann, and Sudermann, with their less inevitable 
follower, Pinero, is full of such atmosphere. 

Let it be granted, before the argument as to social forces 
is stated, that drama is something to be played before 
people, and hence is something to move people. This is one 
of its essential characteristics, one of its chief marks of dis- 
tinction in comparison with other species of forceful litera- 
ture. We also grant, echoing Freytag, Price, and others, 
who in turn but faintly echo Aristotle, that drama is reflec- 
tive of life, and is necessarily influenced by the intellectual, 
social, and economic environment of the dramatist, even 
though the subject-matter be foreign to the time in which 
the dramatist lived. Throughout Shakespeare, whether he 
be dealing with the Caesars, with the Capulets, or with the 
Danes, the Elizabethan is always nigh. No man in any walk 
of life may escape his age. Even the iconoclasts are in 
advance of theirs as a reaction against it; or as Emerson 
claims, every social reform was once a private opinion. 

Again, it is wise to grant in drama as in life that conflict 
means clash of will. The heroic marionettes interpret this 
as a clash of physical bodies, due to unbridled physical 
passion outwardly made manifest. The humanistic drama 
regards it in a deeper, a more intensive sense. This clash 
involves philosophical distinction, and is nowhere better 
exemplified than in the progress of Maeterlinck, whose con- 



DRAMA AS A SOCIAL FORCE 5 

ception of Destiny has altered to accord with his later belief 
that human will may sometimes control the working of 
Fate. We now recognize nothing as wholly inevitable that 
comes from our own life-force. Destiny has changed into a 
Christian principle that as we sow, so shall we reap. "We 
are masters of our Fate," sings Henley. We destroy only 
that we may build better upon our mistake, or, as Shaw 
says: "Every step in morals is made by challenging the 
validity of the existing conception of perfect propriety in 
conduct." 

The drama, therefore, depends upon social support; it 
has to talk of life in terms of life, and it has to appeal to 
life in matters with which life is concerned. Even before 
nationality in drama added characteristics which distin- 
guished the British from the French or Germans, and differ- 
entiated the Americans as separate, even though a part of 
the English, the drama echoed the fundamental principles 
of life, and dealt specifically with the vital energy which 
surged through man's blood. 

Of course, even to-day, the vital literature at its most 
vital moments transcends nationality, though not rejecting 
it. Ibsen in Scandinavia, Hauptmann and Sudermann in 
Germany, Tolstoy in Russia, Shaw in England, are all swept 
by the same social movement which tends toward partial 
social solution, even though the methods of using it are 
surprisingly uncomfortable for those of us who are willing, 
as Vockerat says in Hauptmann's "Lonely Lives," to 
be "the drones in the hive." To the big dramatist, to the 
true citizen, the happy ending in drama is one that satisfies 
only when it cleanses and leaves the soul in the light of 
truth. 

The drama as a social force — apart from its primary 
object to have and to hold the interest of a crowd through 
the essential factor of its story — has resulted in a species 



6 THE AMERICAN DRAJMATIST 

of play which, for want of a better term, has been designated 
"the social drama." It is really a drama of condition, social 
or economic. All critics recognize it as a definite species: 
Shaw in his prefaces, Henry Arthur Jones, Walkley, W. P. 
Eaton, and Clayton Hamilton distinguish it as a form in 
which the message is carried direct; in which conviction is 
being hurled at the people, regardless of sensibilities and 
regardless of whether the immediate crowd heed or not. 
But the dramatist who disregards the crowd is no real man 
of the theatre; he will find it difficult to have his philosophy 
— social, economic, or spiritual — accepted across the foot- 
lights. And truly, as ]\Ir. Hamilton has stated in his sug- 
gestive book on " The Theory of the Theatre," the dramatist 
under these conditions might as well be a novelist; he would 
be heeded much more readily. Drama will not abide long 
exposition, such as one finds in the plays of Paul Bourget 
and in the last act of Augustus Thomas's " As a Man Thinks." 

We grant, therefore, that no man may escape his time, 
and least so the man of the theatre; the current of life 
carries him with it. After summarizing Sudermann's "Hei- 
mat," and calling it a "literary thundercloud," Professor 
Francke describes modern Germany in this manner: 

"On the one hand, Bismarck, whether in office or out; on 
the other, Bebel. On the one hand, the ruling minority, 
wonderfully organized, full of intellectual and moral vigor, 
proud, honest, loyal, patriotic but hemmed in by prejudice, 
and devoid of larger sympathies; on the other, the millions 
of the majority, equally well organized, influential as a 
political body, but socially held down, restless, rebellious, 
inspired with the vague idea of a broader and fuller human- 
ity. On the one hand, a past secure in glorious achievements; 
on the other, a future teeming with extravagant hopes. On 
the one hand, service; on the other, personality. On the 
one hand, an almost religious belief in the sacredness of hered- 



DRAMA AS A SOCIAL FORCE 7 

itary sovereignty; on the other, an equally fervent zeal for 
the emancipation of all, both conservatives and radicals, 
both monarchists and social democrats, inevitably drifting 
toward the same final goal of a new corporate consciousness, 
which shall embrace both authority and freedom.'' 

Now, this summary includes the whole significance of 
social forces, though it only examines the political and his- 
torical aspects of the subject. There is no doubt that drama 
also finds itself reflecting the same aspects, but more is 
involved in the play by the very essence of its nature. His- 
tory, philosophy, sociology, and economics deal with the 
effects of social, economic, historical, and philosophical 
action. Drama deals directly with those forces dominantly 
in action; it designates this person as against that, this con- 
dition as against that. One principle opposed to another 
results only in philosophical speculation; it is neither life nor 
drama. 

Condition, after all, has a double effect. It not only colors 
the play by keeping the playwright within the pale of vital 
interests, but it likewise prompts the dramatist to incor- 
porate therein that part of himself which is in rebellion 
against existing condition. He exerts his art for three 
reasons: to express himself, either inspirationally or con- 
sciously; to convince others of the presence of social evil 
in a community, showing them at the same time the means 
of social betterment; and finally, to develop character in 
relation to the conditions of which he treats. It is always 
necessary to keep drama close to life, — a drama which not 
only draws from life, but which in turn reacts on life itself. 

This has made the writer of social drama intense, — per- 
haps more absorbed than he should be in the beclouded 
atmosphere which he strives to clear. The time has come 
when we are beginning to see that the social dramatist's 
vision has been too persistent in its view of evil. Life is not 



8 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

one continual shady past, and Eugene Walter's " The Easiest 
Way," poignant in its theme, is neither healthy in its solution 
nor agreeable in its situations. Everyone will grant that 
even Ibsen, toward the close of his career, came to see where- 
in he had robbed himself of the sweetness of life by the per- 
sistent dwelling upon the canker-worm; he even began to 
sneer at himself after having burned his soul with the red- 
hot terror of "Ghosts." The ideaHst in "The Wild Duck," 
who wrecks the conventional ideal happiness of others, is 
only the cartoon of himself. Yet what larger social force in 
modern drama than Ibsen — revolutionizing technique and 
showing how to vitalize the commonplace incidents of life I 
His social significance has been individual as well as com- 
munal; and, curiously, though he disclaimed any effort on 
his part to be a champion of women, his contemplation was 
fixed on the feminine half of society which needed to be 
free in order that civic life, and all civic institutions pledged 
to the perpetuation of civic life, might be free. This is the 
essential moral purpose of all social drama. 

There are other ways of remedying society than by treat- 
ing solely of conditions as they are. The realist has done 
a deal of good by his so-called "muck-raking," but there is 
likewise a necessary benefit to be conferred by "star-gazing." 
Let us grant that only by respecting the rights of others will 
a man respect himself. If he cannot regard the laws of 
cities, let him have a care for the laws of nature. If he 
cannot be the frock-coat citizen — and assuredly the pillars 
of society need reinforcing some time — let him at least 
be a man, not dependent on the dictates of his passion only. 

Condition is simply the back-drop of life; man's soul and 
woman's soul are the prime considerations. The horizon 
may be dimmed by factory smoke, but while the "muck- 
raker" is attempting to clear the atmosphere of condition, 
there is no need to allow the soul to be smirched with black. 



DRAMA AS A SOCIAL FORCE 9 

And when we speak of the horrors of tenement condition 
in America, there is Hkewise another picture of epic breadth 
we may hold in mind — the vast wheat fields of the West 
under the open sky calling for labor, which either does not 
or will not hear. We can draw from American life the feel- 
ing that, however economically oppressed, in truth we are 
masters of our fate. 

As a social force, drama necessarily must be in touch with 
the sympathies of those with whom it comes in closest con- 
tact. The foreigner who brings to America a French play 
wholly concerned with the problems of family life as the 
Gallic spirit conceives it, will find the American superficially 
attracted. There must be a touch of sympathy with condi- 
tion in drama, as well as with human passion. We found 
"Les Affaires sont les Affaires" ("Business is Business") 
of poignant interest because its business strain was in accord 
with Wall Street. Londoners could find nothing in the 
problem of "The Lion and the Mouse" — aside from its 
faulty logic — for the simple reason that to British audiences 
the Standard Oil history is simply a history and not a condi- 
tion confronting the Empire. 

In this consideration of social forces — and no playwright 
may disregard them — there are certain distinguishing 
features of American life which may some day find unified 
expression in a native theatre. We are being affected by 
European drama to the extent that we are learning to make 
use of the deep and vital problems of human nature, and to 
exalt them above the mere effectiveness of situation; we are 
being taught that there are intimate social relations which we 
are too prone to take for granted without determining for 
ourselves the exact foundations on which they are based; we 
are learning technique from the European writers of social 
plays, and need not be ashamed of the well-made dramas 
by Augustus Thomas and William Gillette. Finally, we are 



10 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

beginning to see that the world-movement is touching our 
own shores, and is demanding of us the solution of problems 
much the same as those confronting every nation of the 
earth. What we, as a civic body, may say is this: Let us 
solve the problems according to our national strength, and 
according to the moral point of view upon which we have 
agreed to live as a nation. 

The call of revolt in drama is not anarchy, and we in 
America have not quite realized its meaning. But we are 
intellectually alive to its presence. And in order to gain 
strength we must feel in the soil, the common clay, for the 
vital force which has yielded us more grain than our labor 
is able to garner, but which has not yet yielded us a full 
harvest of art and idealism. What now has to be determined 
by our American dramatist is : how may he so combine what 
is being learned from Ibsen on the one hand, and from 
Maeterlinck on the other, as to create out of the workman, 
the plowman, the laborer in the field, the artisan, a poet as 
well as an ordinary man? 

Yet we need not hesitate, for we perforce must seek in 
condition, in the tang of our soil, for American drama. It 
is useless to think that we may transplant something foreign 
to our natures, and that it will flourish. We must meet 
life in our own way, and not have it met for us by others 
in their foreign way. Still, the value of social drama lies in 
the impulse it gives to our dramatists to depend on other 
than newspaper knowledge for condition and for human 
nature. Social forces lie deep; they are not on the surface; 
they are the true history of any movement. Hence, it is 
not cleverness, but understanding, they require for their 
full and ample explanation. 



CHAPTER II 

THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 



We hear much about the American dramatist; we are al- 
ways denying him, and at the next turn we are discovering 
him. Some critics proclaimed with much assurance that 
William Vaughn Moody had reached the goal in "The 
Great Divide," but it was only notable in its suggestion of 
largeness; some others, lost in the admiration of literary 
values, declare that Percy Mackaye's "Sappho and Phaon" 
was great drama and that his "Mater" adequately discussed 
the problems of democracy. But these declarations are 
futile, and have only relative significance. Either a dram- 
atist has, or he has not, written a play with some telling 
substance in it. That is the primary test of the theatre — 
the test that knows no nationality. 

Henry Arthur Jones is spoken of as an English dramatist 
— first, because that language is his vehicle of expression. 
Bronson Howard, Clyde Fitch, and David Belasco likewise 
use this medium — and in such a sense American drama 
is but a subdivision of the English drama. However, Mr. 
Jones is a British dramatist because of something funda- 
mentally deeper. Spiritually, mentally, socially, he has 
been subject to national characteristics, he has been trained 
in an English environment, he has been educated in English 
institutions. It would have been as impossible for him to 
conceive the theme of "The Lion and the Mouse," as it 



12 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

would have been for Charles Klein to have written it on his 
first arrival in America. ■ 

A dramatist's point of view must be shaped by the body 
politic in which he lives. The interests and local distinctions 
of any nationality are reflected in its literature, and the es- 
sentials of an American play should reflect the essentials 
of American life — not in the philosophic sense, but in the 
broader and more human sense. 

We are free in our use of the term, "American drama;" 
we are even freer in our hasty assertions that no distinctively 
American drama exists; and, what is more to the point, we 
find it difiicult to define what is exactly the dominant note 
that stamps a play as American. Let us attempt to define, 
in order, the two terms in this cant phrase, "American 
drama." 

Consult the American dramatists of all grades of distinction, 
and their opinions scarcely vary. Bronson Howard, the 
Dean, once said : " By the term I should mean any play that 
is written by an American, or in America by a foreign resi- 
dent, that is produced here, and that deals with any subject — 
using America in the sense of the United States. The phrase, 
American drama, if extended to a full description, would be 
* Plays written in the United States, chiefly in the English 
language.'" As to general characteristics, Mr. Howard 
recognized none as distinctive of this country alone, thereby 
inferring that humanity is universal, whether garbed in a 
cowpuncher's outfit or in a king's uniform. But Hamlin 
Garland's claim that it is locality which marks nations, 
and Bret Harte's exemplification of that fact, lead one to 
agree with the terseness of Augustus Thomas' opinion that 
the American drama is written by Americans upon American 
subjects, and is stamped with peculiar humor and distinct 
character-drawing. Such requisites even give rise to sec- 
tional literature of a kind that distinguishes W. D. Howelb 




Edwin Milton Royle 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 13 

from Thomas Nelson Page, or Mary E. Wilkins-Freeman 
from Charles Egbert Craddock. Elsewhere Mr. Thomas 
has asserted, " There are very few good lines in a play that 
go to waste, and with their general acceptance as good, there 
is little disposition to regard the nationality of the author. 
A good line by anybody secures immediate recognition by 
any audience of understanding." Herein, however, we 
detect an element of weakness in Augustus Thomas, as a 
playwright, for in many of his plays on the order of "De 
Lancy," "Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots," and "The Other Girl," 
wit and sharp lines predominate in lieu of any strong idea. 

Harry B. Smith, writer of many comic opera librettos, 
places rigorous requirement upon American drama. " I do 
not think we have an American drama," he writes, "in the 
sense that there is a French drama or an English drama. 
Our plays are clever, run a season or two, and then are 
relegated to the top shelf. There will be no American drama 
until plays are written that endure, and take their place in 
the body of literature. '* 

It is the "square deal" that American audiences mostly 
seek, such a spirit as made Milton Royle's "The Squaw 
Man" a popular success. The large heart rather than the 
subtle one, the direct deed rather than the evasive thought, 
and the terse answer rather than the veiled meaning, compel 
sympathetic interest in an American crowd. Most of our 
dramatists have learned this directness through newspaper 
work. Howard, Thomas, and Ade began as reporters. 

This quality of " uplift, " therefore, is synonymous with the 
word "American." To be an American means to have an 
indisputable right to rise above environment. Democracy 
knows but one level, and that is the equity of justice; de- 
mocracy gives out the great privilege of drawing no dis- 
tinctions and of raising no barriers, save those that are made 
by differences of character. The American is placed upon 



14 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the highroad of Hfe, and there comes to him, in the face of 
Fate, the American note: "It 's up to you." There it is in 
a nutshell, and in the popular language. This is the dis- 
tinctive character of the literature we are seeking and of the 
drama which we hope to have. 

The American is clean and healthy; to him the home 
means a great deal. His temper is quick to renounce aban- 
don, despite all we hear of the divorce courts at Reno; his 
directness is not sympathetic toward what the faddist is 
pleased to call subtlety. The dominant feature of American 
character is action; hence it must be the essential requisite 
of American, as it is of all, drama. 

The indisputable right to rise above environment — is 
that our fundamental note? It excludes the idea of tragedy 
as the Greeks conceived it, and indeed we are not deeply 
moved by the inevitable of Sophocles. Someone has written : 

"In defeat, the American sows the seeds of victory; . . . 
for there is no event, not the worst, but God is of and in it. 
And for (Edipus in his remorse, and Oswald in his imbecility, 
there is infinite certainty of good. . . . Paradoxical as it is, 
the fact is clear that, in the heart of a Georgia mob, in Whit- 
tier's verse, and in the cowpuncher's respect for a woman, 
there lives the same spirit whose largeness and delicacy, 
whose tenderness and unconquerable daring, made American 
life the most vital in the world." 

We applaud this nobleness of attitude, wheresoever it is 
to be found ; we claim it as our own. There is an epic strength 
to the fight — a force that will come, it may be, with the sweep 
of melodrama, but healthfully active. In "The Virginian," 
Owen Wister says: 

" All America is divided into two classes — the quality 
and the equality. The latter will always recognize the for- 
mer when mistaken for it. Both will be with us until our 
women bear nothing but kings. 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 15 

"It was through the Declaration of Independence that 
we Americans acknowledged the eternal inequality of man, 
for we abolished a cut-and-dried aristocracy. We had seen 
little men artificially held up in high places, and great men 
artifically held down in low places, and our own justice- 
loving hearts abhorred this violence to human nature. There- 
fore we decreed that every man should thenceforth have 
equal liberty to find his own level. By this very decree 
we acknowledged and gave freedom to true aristocracy, 
saying 'Let the best man win, whoever he is.' Let the 
best man win! That is America's word. That is true 
democracy." 

The strength of our American life lies in a marked com- 
panionship of the American people. We like evidences of 
this fact in our books; we applaud it on our stage. This 
is why "The Virginian," poor as it was in its dramatized 
form, drew, for reason of its quiet dignity of conception, 
its quick decision, and its elemental passion. 

Speaking of his hero and heroine in " The Gentleman from 
Indiana," which failed in its dramatization, Booth Tarking- 
ton writes: "The genius of the American is adaptability, 
and both were sprung from pioneers whose mean life de- 
pended on that quality." But in this momentary accept- 
ance of inherited environment lies the infinite source of 
action. Later on in the narrative, there runs through the 
hero's mind a definition of success : " To accept the worst 
that Fate can deal, and to wring courage from it instead of 
despair." This is the dominant note in our American life, 
and we seek it in our drama. 

There is a speech in " Strongheart," a sincere and vigorous, 
if not a vital, play by William C. DeMille, where an Indian 
has to forsake his love of a white girl, because he is a red 
man; yet in his strength of sentiment he claims his infinite 
right as a man, "You have taken the land of my fathers," 



16 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

he cries, " yet when I Uve by your laws, you will not call me 
brother. I am the son of a chief. In what way am I not 
your equal? You would take from me my pride and my 
love. Do you think you can take these without a struggle? 
. . . You called me from among my mountains to be one of 
you. I was happy there. You showed me the great life 
beyond and now you bid me keep back! You tell me that I 
may not share it, but must stand outside, because I am an 
Indian. No, — I will not do it.'' 

Then in the end, Billy, the typical American college boy, 
sees Strongheart alone in his grief and goes to him. This 
dialogue follows : 

Billy: What 's up between you and the boys? 

Strong.: The prejudice of centuries. 

Billy: Is that straight? 

Strong.: Yes. 

Billy: Then I 'm ashamed of my whole race, and I '11 go and 
tell 'em so. 

An audience applauds such unstinted generosity; it has a 
laugh of jubilation in it; it gives a reportorial comment, and 
an incisive, spontaneous, youthful judgment. It comes 
from a good heart, and is the verdict of man for man. 

The indisputable right to rise above environment — here 
is the source for large action, and it demands, in technique, 
a quick grasp of essentials. 

" I 'm a business man. Miss Dearborn," explains Curtis 
Jadwin in Channing Pollock's dramatization of Frank 
Norris's "The Pit." "It does n't take me long to discover 
what I want, and, when I find that thing, I generally get 
it. I want you to marry me." 

This is not our customary way of showing sentiment, 
but there is an activity in it typical of American life. It 
reveals a defiance of petty convention and of cloaked mean- 
ing. Our problem has largely been in the direction of stress 




Channing Pollock 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 17 

and strain. Yet Jadwin, the typical business speculator on 
Wall Street, is made to exclaim: 

"Oh, it's not the money, Laura; it never was. It was 
the excitement. I had to do something. I could n't sit 
around and twiddle my thumbs. I don't believe in lounging 
around clubs, or playing the race, or murdering game birds, 
or running some poor, helpless fox to death." 

Here one detects an essential contrast between English 
and American life. We have no recognized type of the gay 
Lord Quex class; we do not believe in the decadence that 
grows from worse to worse. Because for two generations a 
man's ancestors may not have been all that they should 
have been, the present holds an infinity of reward in store 
for him who has the strength to fight character, tradition, 
or condition, in the light of truth. It is ever the cry of energy, 
and the gleam of hope in a nature never beyond the point 
of redemption. 

In Richard Harding Davis's "Soldiers of Fortune" — a 
success as far as popular dramatization was concerned — 
Clay, the hero, says to the society Langham girl, who has 
taunted him with being content to labor : 

" No, ... I don't amount to much, but, my God ! . . . 
when you think what I was. ... If I wished it, I could 
drop this active work to-morrow, and continue as an ad- 
viser — as an expert — but I like the active part better. 
I like doing things myself. ... It 's better to bind a laurel to 
the plow than to call yourself hard names." 

The continental importations that come to us have nothing 
of this ethical ring to them; they are teaching us the possi= 
bilities that enter life, spiritually, socially, and economically; 
they are warning us, by their realistic discussion, against 
the part of life that flaunts degradation. That book is liked 
the best in America, that play is applauded the most, which 
gives a human soul the right of way to find its own salvation. 



18 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The American tragedy is one of incompetence, — a lack of 
individual character, and not of constitutional weakness 
or of national depravity. 



n 

There is more than the mere defining of American drama 
as something written by a native or a foreigner, resident in 
America. There is even something more than the fact that 
we are moved and prompted by events that confront us in 
our social, political, industrial, and commercial relations. 
Though immediate events may not be permanent, they are 
at least significant, and drama should always deal with sig- 
nificant moments, motives, or situations. The stage is 
denied the right of emphasizing the existence of little mo- 
ments. Ibsen maj^ seem to have done this, but his dramas 
usually start at high speed, and advance by compressed 
thought and essential dialogue. 

To define American drama, it is as paramount that we 
understand the essentials of drama in general, as that we 
gauge the meaning of the word "American." History would 
justify our differentiating drama from the mass of literature 
by the very fact that the stage is the ultimate means by 
which the dramatic writer intends to reach his public. I am 
inclined to believe that drama is emphasized as a special 
branch of literature primarily because the story is to be shown 
in the active concrete, rather than told in the passive or 
static — and that of necessity the word drama carries with 
it the ideas and considerations of dramatist, actor, audience, 
and stage. 

Dramatic form does not always constitute drama, though 
it may claim to mean literature. Tennyson failed signally as 
a playwright — despite the support of Henry Irving; Brown- 
ing likewise failed — despite the encouragement of Macready 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 19 

— because the mind's eye saw what could not be visibly 
depicted; because genius 'pondered where progressive action 
should have carried forward the story to the end. But when 
we obtain, in lieu, the poetry of a Tennyson or of a Browning 

— even, in some respects, of a Stephen Phillips — we can 
afford to lose the playwright. Yet we cannot see where the 
fact of poetry should be an excuse for failure as playwright, 
if the poet aims for the stage. 

In America, we have the poetic drama, but it neither con- 
trols the stage nor does it bear evidence of native strength. 
"«Iudith of Bethulia," by Thomas Bailey Aldrich, was a slow- 
moving tragedy, a mixture of Lady Macbeth and studied 
history; it was devoid of spontaneous imagination, and the 
action was embroidered in words. Josephine Preston 
Peabody (Mrs. Lionel Marks) in her "Marlowe" or " The 
Piper," Percy Mackaye in " A Garland to Sylvia," or ''Sappho 
and Phaon," Ridgely Torrence in "Abelard and Heloise," 
Olive Dargan in "Lords and Lovers" — all of them have 
courted form alone, ignoring the dynamics of the stage, or 
the exigencies of the scene. These plays are better fitted for 
the closet. 

A reading public and a theatre public differ in this: that 
what the reader loses he may regain by turning back, but 
what the audience misses is wholly lost, unless, by chance, 
repetition brings it further on in the development of the plot. 
American drama is not as yet sufficiently compact in struc- 
ure to satisfy both the stage and literature. 

We often hear it said that drama is a reflex of life; hence, 
that American drama is a reflex of American life. This is 
but another way of asserting that drama is action, since life 
is action; that drama is imitation, since reflex means re- 
flection; and that action is not an end in itself, but is defi- 
nitely directed towards a goal, since life is full of purpose. 
Drama, if it means directed action, must of necessity call in 



20 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the exercise of the human will, and where will is required, 
there is involved the compensating element of opposition. 

Therefore, a definition of drama should state that it is 
action directed toward an end; that it is the exertion of hu- 
man^will stimulated by some large emotional or mental view; 
that it is struggle, whether against environment or the indi- 
vidual — a struggle against Destiny or heredity or will. 

There is a moment, however, when events, moved by con- 
tending emotions, push action to its highest pitch. The tide 
therefrom begins to ebb, to adjust or resolve itself. Were 
we to express this progress by a curve of development, our 
climax would be the crest of the wave, with the line of descent 
sharper than that of ascent, yet governed in its direction 
through every point of the curve from its beginning. Fran- 
cisque Sarcey used the admirable term scenes a faire, which 
indicates the organic consistency with which this curve of 
drama is drawn. For if the playwright has clearly conceived 
the central plan of his play, and has definitely fashioned in 
his mind the characteristics of his chief dramatis personoB, 
there are some scenes which enter his calculations whether 
he will or not, which are essential to the understanding of 
the story and to the development of the central figures. 

Sometimes our American dramatist blinds himself to this 
necessary consistency, since it demands rigorous workman- 
ship and clear ideas; sometimes he is unable to cope with 
such close, logical technique. This is true of most attempts 
to convert novels into dialogue for the stage; the effort is 
to externalize the important scenes in the book, which may- 
hap have been blue-pencilled by the manager or his reader 
as the situations most desired for a commercial success; 
or those extrances and exits are selected that will best suit 
the limitations of a particular actor. 

In view of the fact that drama has, throughout its history, 
been written for the stage, a definition should include certain 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 21 

expression of the truth that drama is intended for representa- 
tion. Theory will never make the dramatist; a few principles 
will not construct a play. Shakespeare knew his playhouse; 
Sophocles recognized the helpfulness of scenery; every world- 
renowned dramatist has been brought into close relation 
with the theatrics of his profession. And though there are 
conventions for every age, conventions which modify the 
form and affect the physical outhnes of the theatre itself, 
from the playhouse of Shakespeare and Moliere to that of 
Clyde Fitch and Augustus Thomas, the dynamic quality 
of drama remains constant. It must appeal to the crowd. 
This is as unfailing in exaction for the American dramatist 
as it was for the ancient Greek. 

Fine distinctions can never be rigorously formulated 
and applied to drama. We cannot go to the theatre with a 
head full of principles, and attempt to base every turn of 
emotion, every technicality of structure, upon an axiom or 
a psychological formula from a theatrical text-book. The 
point cannot be sharply defined where comedy flows into 
tragedy, or where tragedy fades into comedy, even though 
the distinctions made by Aristotle in the " Poetics "'are clear 
in mind. 

Hence, in our pliable definition of drama, we may consider 
the form and substance to be the imitation of a particular 
action which should he accounted for from its beginning to its 
end, in a style consistent with its emotional color, and which 
is destined, through the medium of the artist, to awaken in 
others a feeling of sympathy or repulsion. In the phrase, 
"emotional color," we have the motive of the dramatist, 
prompting him to write the play; the motive of the manager 
in selecting the play for his theatre; and the motives of the 
audiences in coming. The emotional value awakens the 
desire; it is the awakening that determines the moral, the 
educative effect of drama in a community. 



22 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Perhaps this may sound speculative, yet it involves the 
practical elements at the basis of the theatre. So far, we may 
say that all modern drama can be judged by these elements. 
But such a definition as we have here constructed only affords 
us a framework upon which to trace the pattern of a national 
art, as well as of an art in general. Dramatic history indicates 
that America and England have practically come under the 
same dramatic influences; it will reveal the fact that while 
in London, Robertson and Boucicault and Clement Scott 
were making a livelihood by filching French plays and in- 
fusing English sentiment into them, New York was being 
subject to the same thing under the regime of Augustin Daly. 

The American playwright, in view of this situation, had 
for a long while to fight against managerial prejudice which 
was in favor of the foreign market. The general rule was 
that American successes were practically successes of Eng- 
lish dramatists. This distrust of native talent was to be 
deplored, but it was well grounded. For, in America, tech- 
nical training was not particular at the outset. Our young 
playwrights mistook curiosity for interest, noise for action, 
and relied for effect on variety rather than on consistency, 
on external antics of the dramatis personw rather than on 
outward action as governed by mental state or social con- 
dition. America is so large, territorially, that we seek for 
sectional types and details of life, while in England the 
dramatic author pays more attention to unity of conception 
and technique — a unity that will sacrifice artifice, however 
effective, for the sake of truth. But it is usually English 
truth. 

There are very definite reasons why Bronson Howard is 
rightfully considered the Dean of American Drama — a 
rightful title according to seniority, but more especially 
because of his fight in the seventies and eighties for American 
interests in American drama for the American people. Not 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 23 

that drama of any kind, if it fulfill the requirements of 
drama, will fail to grip us wherever we are, but as citizens 
of a body politic we have our separate interests to consider. 

Americans, as we have suggested, are characterized by 
their directness; they are quick, decisive, and almost blunt 
in conversation; they are practically imaginative at the 
present, and that is why their inventions fill the market. 
Their emotions are large, and their sympathies are easily 
appealed to. The controlling factor in their make-up is 
a sense of humor — not so subtle as the English, but 
more good-humored. Daniel Frohman once said that the 
Germans talked their plays, while the Americans acted 
theirs. This is another essential of drama: constant move- 
ment — a characteristic which is typical of American life. 

The difference between British and American drama is 
the difference between the London Times amd the New 
York Herald. What we find in our morning paper, we are 
most apt to find again in our evening play. The life of the 
West is the melodrama of the East. These seemingly face- 
tious statements are not far from the truth. Yet there can 
be found no definite tendency in American drama of the 
present, for the simple reason that there is no well-defined 
philosophy of American life. We have just waked up to the 
fact that in our own country, richness of humanity is as 
plentiful as elsewhere. We draw from our history, especially 
from the Civil War period, but have not sufficiently pene- 
trated the social life of these vital times to create any per-_ 
manent historical drama. James A. Herne^s "Griffith 
Davenport'' — the only manuscript of which was burned in 
a fire which totally destroyed the family homestead, " Heme 
Oaks," — was the finest example of a war play treated in 
spirit, rather than in martial action. Clyde Fitch's "Bar- 
bara Frietchie" may be termed a quasi-war play only; 
WiUiam Gillette's "Secret Service," well constructed and 



24 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

atmospheric, is superior to Bronson Howard's " Shenandoah" 
both in verity and in story interest; Belasco's "The Heart 
of Maryland" is more melodramatically striking than 
William DeMille's "The Warrens of Virginia." Yet all of 
these fail to grasp the essential conditions of the period. 

In om* literary deluge of the past and present, we are able 
to point only to a few products that have etched deep upon 
the page the very fibre of national and sectional life. I always 
like to mention as being in the same class, Hawthorne's 
"The Scarlet Letter," Frank Norris's "The Octopus," James 
Lane Allen's "The Reign of Law," and Ellen Glasgow's "The 
Deliverance." Each one of these deals with something 
psychologically large; each impresses us with the undoubted 
fact that the situations, as well as the spiritual and physical 
development of the characters, are dependent on the soil 
which nurtured them. We have not as yet produced drama 
of this character. William Vaughn Moody's "The Great 
Divide," effective though it proved to be theatrically, was 
a false imitation of the method. 

There is in this country a deep interest in the drama of 
condition. But in satisfying this interest, the playwright 
must see that he does not lose grip on the essentials of all 
drama. He must view action from its logical outcome to 
its logical conclusion. However local he is, the underlying 
force must be a motive that is human, that knows no local 
restriction. 

Thus, the essentials of an American play are subject to 
most of the conditions which apply to the development of 
English, French, or German drama. But temperament is 
colored in subtle manner; heredity plays a part; tradition, 
environment, mental training, spiritual guidance, social 
demands, — all leave their impress upon individual life, 
hence, upon the individual dramatist. There undoubtedly 
is such a thing as American citizenship, apart from its 




Pho*o. by De W. C. Wood 



William Vaughn Moody 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 25 

political significance. The essential factor, therefore, is to 
determine whether or not the artisan is a true playwright; 
whether he understands drama, or whether he has a false 
idea of its organic character. To obtain the best out of dra- 
matic condition, we must create a body of dramatic criti- 
cism strong enough to establish a wholesome attitude toward 
our amusement. For in our desire to create a national 
dramatic literature, we must not forget that it is far more 
important to be true to life than to be true to locality. If 
the dramatist, of whatever country, view life deeply, sin- 
cerely, and fully, his background will of its own accord 
assume its proper position in the picture. And he will more 
assuredly find himself the author of a successful play. 



Ill 

The spirit of unrest is not only evident in social matters, 
but in our amusements as well. We are playing with public 
taste without any aim to our guns, and out of this has come 
only novelty. What we need is the establishment of a school 
of playwrights, prompted by some large impetus. If there 
be originality at all on our American stage, it comes to us 
from abroad, and is colored by foreign ideals. The motive 
power of drama to-day is not native born; we in America 
follow and imitate, or we try to counteract the moral tense- 
ness of continental drama by the gaiety and ghtter of musical 
comedy. 

It cannot be expected that our stage would be the first 
to offer what our American Hterature has scarcely supplied 
— a body of ideas sufficiently strong to incite or to modify 
public opinion, as Galsworthy's "Justice" wakened England. 
One cannot refrain from saying that, apart from a small 
number of American dramatists, most of those authors 
writing for the stage are prompted by nothing more impelling 



26 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

than the tempting royalty returns. That is why novelists 
wrongly whip themselves into dramatists. They are alive 
to sensation as the reporter is alive, and curiously they lose 
their literary sense of values. They are keen after a story, 
but the narrative quality is not much above that of the 
average ten-cent magazine. Though they would be the first 
to disclaim it, they are nothing more than melodramatists, 
not in the exaggerated sense of Eighth Avenue, but in the 
realistic sense of the modern novel. 

Since this is the condition, since theatrical business is 
increasing without a corresponding increase in the authority 
of the playwright, we may, with some reason, despair of 
public taste as it concerns the stage. Where are we tending 
in our home product, aided or injured, as you will, by the 
commercial theatre? For, strange to say, though our women's 
clubs throughout the country are actively studying modern 
drama as a product of social and intellectual forces, they are 
not able to apply the ideas of Sudermann or Hauptmann 
to their own experience, save in so far as the plays are 
sexual. 

This is unhealthy; it detaches the theatre from its ethical 
purpose; it attempts to force condition to adapt itself to 
an imported morality. In some respects we cannot call it 
a wrong morality; in other respects we know it is harmful 
and abnormal. Most of our dramatic hysteria is a result of 
this detached appreciation of problems that do not concern 
us, since they come under the jurisdiction of a different 
social law. We Americans can never fully understand the 
Gallic spirit for this reason. Emerson and Maeterlinck are 
of the same spiritual piece, but Maeterlinck came from 
Emerson. Our adjustment of family life is so different from 
that of the French that Bourget seems wholly inadequate, 
so far as general impress is concerned. So it was with Ibsen 
when he was a "fad," for only our New England women 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 27 

could quite know the terrors of a social conscience, and only 
our farmers' wives and daughters could be said to resemble 
in their brooding some of Ibsen's heroines. 

What I wish to emphasize is that at the present time 
there is no absolute force moulding our theatre into distinct 
form or purpose, or directing either the actor, the playwright, 
or the public. When we are serious, then we become imi- 
tators, and grow excessive in our desire to be thought extreme 
and powerful. A system of philosophy does not follow from 
reflected light; a Magda cannot be evolved from an atmos- 
phere in no way warm to receive her. 

We are splashing around in a rich sea of American human- 
ity, and we do not know how to swim with the strong current. 
We either look across the water where they are really crea- 
ting a body of ideas for the stage, or else we turn back as 
Carleton did in "Memnon," as Conrad did in "Jack Cade," 
or as Boker did in nearly all of his dramas, to history, romance 
and myth. If we mention American history, we stop just at 
the point where we should begin. Condition is only one 
phase of native character; it has, nevertheless, so far modi- 
fied human action as to stamp the American with outward 
and evident characteristics. This is seen in Frank Norris's 
novels, and in the sectional literary differences between the 
North and the South. Newspaper condition, i. e., as the 
American newspaper sees American condition, is the one 
original note in our theatre. 

But it is not so original as it is familiar and near to our 
own experience. That is the one hope of the mediocre activ- 
ity of the American playwright. There is more verse being 
written in this country than ever before, but it is not poetry. 
Yet the increase in jingle poets at least indicates a poetic 
tendency. So is it with drama; we are writing plays every- 
where, but even as the inexperienced poet wrote verses to 
a nightingale, which is never seen in America save at a public 



28 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

aviary, so the playwright seeks everywhere but in himself 
for the material he wishes. 

There was a time when Schiller and Kotzebue influenced 
the American stage; there was another time when Scribe, 
Hugo, and Dumas became the models. Then there arrived 
Wallack and Daly, who, as theatrical managers, did no 
jot of service to the American playwright, until Bronson 
Howard, the Dean of our American dramatists, insisted 
upon being measured on his own merits. Yet, American 
though he was in interest and intention, Mr. Howard was 
saturated with French technique, and mth French problems 
of infidelity. 

I know of no American drama, based on imitation, that 
has not failed in both respects — to be American and to 
be drama. And the reason why we lack direction is that 
while we have had political crises, social upheavals, and 
economic laws, we have never, save in the days of extreme 
Puritanism, had spiritual struggle. 

American life is identified with outward show and sign; 
in that respect we have American drama. All of our insti- 
tutions are figuring on the stage: Charles Klein periodically 
and in superficial manner, muck-rakes a corporation. That 
is sheer journalism. There must be something within a man 
so firmly connected with his soil — not with his nationality 
— that if it were severed, all the life-blood of his conviction 
would turn ansemic. We lack conviction, we are ansemic on 
our stage, and it were well to seek a remedy. 

In England, there is a school of drama which attempts to 
supply a stage play , measured according to literary standards; 
in Ireland, there is evident an impulse which may result 
also in a powerful and distinctive school. But usually a 
type of dramatic expression comes from the workshop of 
one man, individualistic enough in his message, alive enough 
in his intentness, to override the limitation of his culture 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 29 

and to be affected by his contemporaries or by his reading. 
Ibsen lured, as the Rat-Wife lured Eyolf, and everyone mis- 
took his realism for an abortion, when, in reality, it was 
strong with moral and social purpose. Both he and Tolstoy 
strove for good, honest ends — the one thoroughly consis- 
tent, the other contradictory; and both victims of their 
own self-scourging. 

Not one of our little writers for the theatre to-day has 
that set purpose, that moral steadfastness. For our drama 
does not come from within. It is something tangible; it 
is raw life-stuff (our great hope) needing the craftsman and 
the seer. 

IV 

It may almost be stated as an aphorism that the critical 
faculty is usually in advance of the creative faculty. What- 
ever a man does, as exemplification of his theory, is never an 
exact illustration of it; there is always a rift in the armor 
of accomplishment. So it is that we find Ibsen's realism 
falling at times into well-planned theatricalism ; Maeter- 
linck's static drama giving way to the full-blooded passion 
of "Monna Vanna;" Shaw's prefaces surpassing his plays 
in truth and application; Jones' "Renascence of the English 
Drama" a clearer arraignment of English conventions 
than any of his dramas. 

This means that the critical faculty prepares the way, 
and whenever a dramatist wishes to clear his mind of ob- 
scurity, he falls into expressions of opinion which usually 
take form in lectures, talks, or interviews. Only last May, 
Brieux delivered himself of a long discourse before the Aca- 
demie Fran9aise, not upon technique which marks such a 
piece as "Les Trois Filles de M. Dupont," but upon the ten- 
derness of "L'Abbe Constantin" and its romantic author. 
Not that a dramatist repudiates his theories, his tastes, his 



30 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

critical aim, when he comes to write, but his critical purpose 
has to be made subservient to the essential purpose of the 
theatre. 

I have often thought how healthy, how almost juvenile 
the American dramatist is in his appreciation of external 
opportunities; how willing he is to set himself any difficult 
mechanical task for accomplishment on the stage. David 
Belasco is such a craftsman. But with this creative exuber- 
ance has arisen the need for analyzing what this big American 
life really means for stage purposes, how it may be used so 
as to represent the storm and stress of material growth, with- 
out destroying the idealism which is the heritage of every 
nation, and more especially a young one. Many play- 
wrights have expressed their views to me, and each one of 
them has advanced beyond his practice and has preached 
excellently well. 

I always found Bronson Howard to be twice the American 
as man that he was as playwright. "One of Our Girls," 
"Saratoga," "Kate," are all French moulds containing stray 
flecks of native dialogue. From what I know of New York 
society drama at the time they were written, this was the 
entertainment most acceptable to the theatre public. But 
their spirit was hardly as Mr. Howard felt personally about 
American drama — how it should deal specifically with 
American conditions and with American types. 

Of all our dramatists, James A. Heme may be said to 
have come nearest to the soil, doing as much for the theatre 
as ever W. D. Ho wells has done for literature. Yet, after 
he had tried some keen-edged realism in "Margaret Fleming" 
and some evenly-balanced history in "Griffith Davenport," 
he was obliged to compromise with his public, and to encase 
his simple motives and his poignantly simple emotions in a 
melodramatic setting. But even then he did not forsake his 
critical theory; he held to the natural method of dialogue, 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 31 

hewing out of native character what later and lesser dram- 
atists hewed out of a half-understanding of Ibsen. It is a 
strange instance, this, of Mr. Heme's sensing Ibsen before 
his day. Yet, though in a way he could not practice what 
he preached, James A. Heme continued to preach, and his 
statements in lectures and interviews are in advance of liis 
actual stage work. And his distinctions were always un- 
erringly ethical. "If a disagreeable truth," he wrote, "is not 
also an essential, it should never be used in art." Mr. Heme 
realized certain didactic touches in "Margaret Fleming," 
but he felt his manner of characterization w^as right. It was 
simply ahead of its time, and only the critical outlook can 
travel so far. That is why "Shore Acres" followed rather 
than preceded "Margaret Fleming." 

Now, there is one essential our American dramatist has 
fully realized — that the stage must have action and depict 
a human story. From American life he has learned the one, 
since its chief characteristic is movement; and from the 
American newspaper he has gleaned the other, since the 
motive power of our journalism is the scare-line which tells 
something at a glance. In a democracy, the man who studies 
his public as he rides downtown in the cars will find it difficult 
to reach any collective point of view of the crowed. He finds, 
if he is writing a play, that no theory of his will transcend 
the popular test of all successful drama: does it get 
across the "foots," does it appeal to the heart, does it 
interest? 

This applies to all types of drama for all types of people. 
It holds good for all quality of amusement at the theatre. 
For beneath the cuticle of culture, we are all akin; the ele- 
mental make-up of emotion is the same for all; only the 
method of expressing this emotion differs. While he was 
at the height of his melodrama days, Owen Davis — always 
more or less a student of the peculiar clientele he had for 



32 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

"Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model" and " Convict 999" — 
came from studying his audiences with this conclusion: 

"I soon found that humanity was the key-note of their 
interest; that the elemental passions appealed to under a 
coating of sugar by the Broadway dramatist were the 
same as those aroused by the Third Avenue playwright with- 
out the coating. In all plays, whether given in the two- 
dollar houses, or in the less imposing ten-twenty-thirty cent 
places of amusement, there must be at bottom some big 
dominant human emotion. On Broadway you must hide 
the springs that move your puppets — and be subtle, moving 
toward your climax circuitously." 

So it was that Owen Davis, graduate from Harvard, laid 
aside his theories, and, determined in the type of "thriller" 
wanted of him, made a success of his venture. Only now is 
he beginning to do the serious work which he has aimed to 
do for many years; but his critical faculty showed him which 
way Al Woods was developing. And as long as five years 
ago he predicted that "Chinatown Charlie" would be for- 
saken by hordes for such subtle vulgarity as "The Girl in 
the Taxi." 

A man's reach should exceed his grasp, and there is no 
doubt that there are high planes of aspiration among allj our 
dramatists. Like Jones, who fbst wrote "The Silver King" 
— arrant melodrama — before he felt justified in dealing 
with problems, they speak in broad, and always in com- 
parative terms, regarding American drama, and they show 
very well their fears and pride. 

It was a long while before Charles Klein was received by 
his public as a critic of American condition, even though 
years before the advent of "The Lion and the Mouse," "The 
Third Degree," and "The Gamblers," he had written "The 
District Attorney" and "The Honorable John Grigsby." 
Not many readers identify his name as the librettist for " El 




Photo, by Otlo Sarony Co. 



Charles Klein 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 33 

Capitan'* and "Red Feather," yet he had to relinquish his 
ideas for a while in order to pave the way for popular au- 
thority to state them. 

Many talks with Mr. IGein only impressed me more and 
more with the fact that even an undisciplined critical per- 
spective tends beyond the point where it would be expe- 
dient to practice. Mr. Klein's philosophy of life is much 
clearer in his conversation than in his plays. Maybe, as 
he says, the public obtains in these plays of his a point of 
view that filters through his individuality. "That there is 
an American drama," he once said to me, " is as certain as 
that there is an American life. But we are in the process of 
adjustment; we have reached and are in the experimental 
stage. Our drama is forming. In the near future, there will 
arise a social conflict; and the East will struggle with the 
West. From this opposition, a great drama will be born." 

But Mr. Klein in his social and economic history is rather 
undisciplined. "The Lion and the Mouse" and "The 
Gamblers" show this. The critical faculty must have a care 
how far it goes without intellectual justification. Unwar- 
ranted statements from our dramatists, such as fill the 
daily press, show the need for a body of ideas that are more 
sanely optimistic. I shall try to epitomize Mr. Klein's 
critical outlook as concisely and as faithfully as possible. 

" It is true that the public wishes psychology," he declared, 
"but no half-lights; that is Ibsen's treatment. There is 
much melodrama in life, but not all of it is the conflict of 
violent emotion. We often see the effects without the causes, 
but the American mind, to be convinced, must have both. 
Mellow light, mere shadowgraph, will not convince. That 
is partly the reason Bernard Shaw's influence, to my mind, 
is negative; he tears down ideals without building, and his 
ruthlessness results in reaction. The denial of a higher 
truth always creates disgust. 



34 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

" Both Shaw and Ibsen only tell half-truths. To be an 
incomparable technician is not everything, but whereas Ibsen 
assails what we hold in abhorrence, Shaw turns to what is 
sacred. Goethe dubbed Mephistopheles 'the spirit of 
negation/ but it takes a fairly good comedian to wear a 
Mephistopheles* make-up. I cannot believe that a man, 
like Shaw, who denies everything, from pure love to pure 
music, is a public beneficence; only the man who affirms 
what is good tells the whole truth." 

When a dramatist talks aloud in this fashion, he is in a way 
sending out that part of him which in stage dialogue might 
be considered didactic. One may dare much in criticism; 
it is supposed to question art in terms of far- vision; it is 
supposed to weigh causes in the light of far-reaching effects. 
That is where the constructive ability of the critic gives him 
claim to imagination of a high creative order. It represents 
the impulse back of the writer — the impulse to be a good 
citizen. For the dramatist, above all other professional and 
artistic persons, must be a strong, virile citizen. 

"In American life," Mr. Klein continued, "the important 
feature is to emulate, to imitate. Everyone is striving to be 
rich; in the instinct, in the will to be rich, we surely find the 
great dramatic action. This race for the material does not 
bar metaphysical considerations. Avarice is constantly in 
conflict with principle, with drama as the result, since drama 
always spells conflict. Desire in American condition grapples 
with obstructing circumstances, with the individual as the 
centre of the vortex. In trying to express these thoughts we 
all have to resort to verbs of action. 

"A condition is not a problem; after all, it is only a con- 
dition, but somewhere in it is the conflict. If the dramatist 
portray the condition, drama is the outward expression of 
his views. The American public is guided by instinct along 
the lines of optimism. We are in process of adjustment with 



THE ESSENTIALS OF AN AMERICAN PLAY 35 

the classes. Some day the Enghsh will undoubtedly undergo 
a readjustment, but now they are presumably fixed. The 
very fact that we Americans are finding ourselves, constitutes 
drama. The American tragedy lies in the fact that we can- 
not find what we want; the English people have realized 
that what they have found is empty. Our greatest tragedy 
will be when we wake up to the truth that our illusions are 
illusions. In fact, the tragedy of the whole world, a 
tragedy wherein the element of hope is seen in the very fact 
that we search for something higher, is the almost dis- 
couraging effort to find the truth, the ideal. Europe is de- 
generating in moral tone because she has no hope. I glean 
from Gibbon that when sexual instinct absorbs a nation as 
it appears to absorb France, there is very little room left 
for the development of any other instinct. The healthy 
part of us is that the American mind is not yet so absorbed." 

Now, in recording these views of Mr. Klein's, I do not 
wish to leave the impression that they do not in some small 
way appear in his dramas. I give them as the unified ex- 
pression of the average American interest in dramatic con- 
dition; for the dramatist does not have to be a student of 
drama. If he possesses the instinct, if he keeps in touch with 
the theatre conditions around him, if he reads and sees plays, 
that is all he needs. Unconsciously, he senses the evolution 
of form; unconsciously he shapes his material in that mould 
to which his good taste, his interest, and his motive lead 
him. 

But the dramatist, if he is anything of a craftsman, has 
to know something more than the mere letter of his trade. 
Though he never use economics, sociology, biology, or kin- 
dred subjects, he is the richer for a knowledge which allows 
his imagination to explore in fields closed to untutored minds. 
No dramatist in his play can say — such shall be the moral 
verdict, such shall be the solution of poverty, such shall be 



36 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the future of America. But the critic can say to the dramatist 
— such will be the moral verdict, such may be the solution 
of poverty, such tends to be the future of America when 
you come to it. Our drama needs knowledge upon which 
to develop a rich imagination. 




^^mmm 



Photo, by Pach Bros. 



KiCHARD Harding Davis 



CHAPTER III 

THE TREND OF AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 

I 

The amusement world is large enough to foster repertory 
houses, for America cannot afford to let dramatic material 
go to waste. Certain excellent quality in the satire of 
Charles Hoyt's farces should be rehabilitated, and there is 
no doubt that Edward Harrigan's Irish fun was fraught with a 
genuineness that should be perpetuated. Professor Matthews 
once spoke of Weber and Fields and their products as the 
Aristophanes period of American drama, yet it is as impos- 
sible to perpetuate the peculiar genius of these two as to 
re-create the unctuousness of the elder Hackett, the geniality 
of John Gilbert, or the humor of John T. Raymond. 

The time has come for stock companies; these institu- 
tions are the real dramatic storehouses of the country. But 
Daniel Frohman, in his "Memories of a Manager," is far 
from believing that a return to the old-time system can be 
effected. Repertory companies reproduce successes of 
only a few seasons past, like Davis's "Soldiers of Fortune" 
and Thomas's "Arizona." They occasionally take stand- 
ardized plays, like Lottie Blair Parker's "Way Down East" 
(1897) or "Under Southern Skies" (1901), and Hke C. T. 
Dazey's "In Old Kentucky," familiar to everyone. In the 
face of theatrical circuits, however, audiences are more 
likely to want the success of the season immediately past — 
a season which wins for the play the headline that "it ran 



38 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

for one hundred and fifty consecutive nights in New York." 
Yet such advertising, though it dupe the provincial theatre- 
goer, is not always true, for, as pointed out in a pamphlet 
on "The Amusement Situation in the City of Boston,"^ 
"hardly a bulletin-board announcing a New York run but 
brazenly and boldly lies about its extent. Ten or twelve 
weeks in New York (several of which were very probably in 
Brooklyn or in remotely situated theatres) is advertised on 
the road as 'One Year in New York,* or *300 Nights on 
Broadway.' A season of thirty weeks (divided among the 
same groups of theatres) is advertised on the road as * Seventy 
weeks in New York,' or '490 days in New York.' More 
conscientious managers actually run their plays in the 
smaller New York theatres week after week at considerable 
loss to themselves, in order to get some excuse for sending 
them upon the road as a claimed ' Broadway Success,' with 
a record for a long run!" 

I quote this as authentic evidence of the fact that with the 
increase of theatrical business, the road has either become 
a place for trying out, or for duping. The manager peddles 
his wares, unless he has no wares to peddle; then he falls 
back upon the scrap heap, out of which he builds himself 
a repertory. 

These stock company houses are good things, even though 
they tend unmercifully to overwork the actor. They are 
excellent measure of the vitality of a play, and, except in 
the instances of special revivals, they are the only havens 
where the theatre-goer may hope to keep in touch with the 

1 Based on a study of the theatres for ten weeks, from Nov. 28, 
1909, to Feb. 5, 1910. This is a report of the Drama Committee 
of the Twentieth Century Club, of that city. The theatre receives 
social treatment, also, in a more pretentious way, in a pamphlet: 
"The Exploitation of Pleasure: A Study of Commercial Recrea- 
tions in New York City," by Michael M. Davis, Jr., published by 
the Department of Child Hygiene, of the Russell Sage Foundation. 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 39 

past. When the New Theatre was contemplating the 
revival of a few old American dramas, it might have been 
well had the Director kept his eye upon these repertory 
centres. 

It would seem, to go a step further, that the time has 
even arrived for us to renovate some of the popular plays 
of the past. Robson and Crane became noted in their pro- 
duction of Howard's "The Henrietta;" and "The Young 
Mrs. Winthrop," by the same author, still has appeal and 
literary flavor. These plays are old-fashioned. — not in their 
plots, not in their essential human interest, but in their 
contemporaneousness. This contemporaneousness should 
be made contemporary, unless the play is dependent upon 
the atmosphere of the past. 

B. E. Woolf's "The Mighty Dollar" (1875), with literally 
"millions in it," used to draw crowded houses, quite as 
much on account of the amusing characteristics of Judge 
Bar dwell Slote, M.C., from Cohosh district, as because of 
the acting of W. J. Florence. Mulberry Sellers, the famous 
vehicle for John T. Raymond, made Mark Twain's "The 
rilded Age" — a play with ample humor, and worth reno- 
-.ating. Professor Matthews, always ready with a literary 
- iialogy, would connect the latter play with Jonson's "The 
.)ivill is an Ass" (1616). Maybe Mr. Clemens sought to 
icnovate the Ehzabethans, even as CoUey Cibber rewrote 
jhakespeare, but there is enough good matter in Sellers to 
have a revival, after the manuscript has been adequately 
reinforced by a skilled craftsman. 

This much we know: that there are no available copies 
of "The Mighty Dollar" or of "The Gilded Age," and that 
they should be in type. Their historical importance lies 
in the attempt they made to create the American for the 
stage. They were eccentric, in the sense that Weber and 
Fields were eccentric, and they depended largely upon the 



40 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST^ 

genius of the actor. They were built parts, in the sense 
that Dundreary^ under the fashioning of E. A. Sothern's 
nimble wit, was a growth from forty-seven lines. It is my 
behef that the old-fashioned conception of the American 
would be as amusing to present generations — even though 
out of date — as the conventional Englishman in Dundreary, 
which was revived by Sothern, the son. But, in order to 
retain some vestige of originality, despite the evanescent 
character of much of the dialogue, it should be made incum- 
bent upon the author or the producer to publish the play as 
originally conceived. 

It may be claimed with justice that such actors as Sothern, 
Irving, Jefferson, and Mansfield have created marvellous 
acting parts; but there is much doubt as to whether the 
public of the older generation would accept Sothern's son 
as Dundreary, Jefferson's son as Rip Van Winkle, and 
Irving's son as Mathias in "The Bells." They are commen- 
dable substitutes, but they are in no way just as good. 
Even now, there is prejudice in the minds of those who have 
seen Booth, as though lingering memory will better theat- 
rical condition! Yet one cannot discount the prejudices 
of an audience, and there is ample cause to believe that 
were an actor to play "Beau Brummel" or "A Parisian 
Romance," ripe upon Mansfield's death, he would suffer 
in comparison. But must we, because of a prejudice, sacri- 
fice plays that are effective theatrically, whatever the time 
or season? There is life in all success — for success comes 
from general approval, and the public heart is much the 
same always. 

I am speaking entirely of dramas that in their day have 
created wonderful theatrical impressions. There is only one 
guide a manager should follow in the matter of repertory: 
renovation must be carried on in the light of modern tech- 
nique, but in a manner wholly consistent with the tenor of 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 41 

the piece. Social drama is constructed on the Ibsen pattern; 
therefore, the screws must be tightened throughout "The 
Young Mrs. Winthrop," originally modeled on Scribe. The 
art of renovation is even more of an art than that of trans- 
lation. 

This suggestion of renovation seems both startling and 
humorous; in it also there is an element of danger. No one 
wishes to see a modernized Rembrandt, and for my part I 
deplore amended Mil tons and simplified Scotts. But only 
in an art which is fluid would I consider renovation. For 
all dramatists know, as the trite saying goes, that plays are 
never written; that they are rewritten. And they might 
just as well be revamped in 1911 as in 1875. Yet, without 
the sanction of the playwright, without his personal super- 
vision, faith must be kept with the original, and that original 
must be published. 

II 

If one should be asked, however, to frame a list of Ameri- 
can plays suitable for immediate revival, the task would be 
disillusionizing. For it would show that previous to 1870, 
the larger part of American drama only had interest his- 
torically and histrionically. It was either history or the 
actor that encouraged native product — a product cast in 
foreign mould from the very outset.^ The way of reviewing 
the past in American drama is simply to assume points of 
view that will accord with a consistent grouping of the many 
plays. The tendencies are much more evident and (much 
more distinctive than the national traits. 

For the very earliest theatrical records indicate that our 
very earliest audiences were accustomed to such comedies 

' For consideration of the stage "To-day and Yesterday," see 
my "Famous Actor-Families in America." 



42 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

as Beaumont and Fletcher's "Rule a Wife and Have a 
Wife," broad in humor and Elizabethan in diction. In fact, 
when the drama first came to America, and began its exist- 
ence at the Williamsburg Theatre, under the patronage of Go v- 
emoT Dinwiddie (September 5, 1752), American civilization 
was thoroughly English. If the drama started in the South, 
it was because the Cavalier spirit was ready to receive it, 
because the Southern landed proprietor, a devotee of Addi- 
son and Steele, believed in the luxury of living rather than 
in making constant preparation for death. The drama 
forced its way in the North, despite the Puritan prejudice in 
New England and the Quaker feeling in Philadelphia. Yet 
we cannot quite blame the qualms of the latter city when its 
first theatre, opened on April 15, 1754, had for its bill,Rowe's 
tragedy, "The Fair Penitent." Certain it was that, apart 
from Shakespeare Cibberized, the early theatre-going taste 
was atune to Congreve and Farquhar, while the glory of 
Garrick stamped all acting.^ 

Our first historians of the drama record amateur perform- 
ances as early as 1749; Otway and Addison were the 
favored dramatists. But American theatrical enterprise 
started with William Hallam, whose company constituted 
the first real "road" organization. This history applies 
strictly to the rise and progress of the theatre; the type of 
play, which had nothing whatever to do with the spirit of 
America, reflected the colonial taste. Some people there 
are who would so far stretch a point as to claim that for a 
performance of Garrick's farce, "Lethe," a prologue was 
prepared, according to the custom of the day, and that this 

^ The reader is referred to George O. Seilhamer's invaluable 
"History of the American Theatre" (1888); to Dunlap's "History 
of the American Theatre;" to Joseph Ireland's "Records of the 
New York Stage from 1750 to 1860"^ and to T. Allston Brown's 
"History of the New York Stage from the First Performance in 
1732 to 1901." 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 43 

prologue represents the first bit of writing done in America 
for the theatre. I do not believe that an arduous search 
through the provincial columns of the Pennsylvania Gazette 
or of the New York Post-boy would bring to light any hidden 
American dramatist before Royall Tyler appeared upon the 
scene; that is, one whose distinct aim was to display the 
American spirit. 

By the time our colonists became accustomed to "pro- 
fane stage plays/' the controversial period of American 
history had arrived, and when the British reached New 
York and Philadelphia, they turned the playhouses to their 
own pleasure, the redcoats becoming actors for the oc- 
casion. There was a drop curtain in existence for a long 
while after the Revolution, which tradition claims was 
painted by Major Andre. 

In our search for dramatic activity in America, it were 
well to dispose in a word of certain forms of writing done 
for the stage. Washington was an inveterate theatre-goer, 
and when the Continental Congress closed the playhouses 
on October 24, 1774, he was very much perturbed. So that, 
after his death, the theatres paid him a tribute by having 
the leading actress, "in the character of the Genius of 
America weeping over the Tomb of her beloved Hero," 
recite "A Monody on the Death of General Washington." 
Certainly we cannot in any way regard General Burgoyne 
as an American playwright, even though his farce, "The 
Blockade of Boston," dealt with an American subject. But 
this farce from the British pen, in which the Continental 
Army was derided, drew from Mrs. Mercy Warren a counter- 
thrust in "The Blockheads," a burlesque polemic.^ 

It will be seen from such entries that during the Revolu- 
tion the theatre was a place for satire, smacking of oratory. 

^ See "Beginnings of American Dramatic Literature," Paul 
Leicester Ford, New Eng. Mag., Feb.^, 1894, n.s. 9: 673-87. 



44 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The product came from the heat of the moment. One 
might just as well claim that the references to America in 
Chapman's "Eastward Hoe" or in Shakespeare's "The 
Tempest," or that Governor Berkeley's dramas were Ameri- 
can, as that these controversial pieces were either plays or, 
strictly speaking, American. For example, Paul Leicester 
Ford points to "The Battle of Brooklyn," a play by an un- 
known author, and, despite its ridicule of Washington, 
doubts whether its origin is British or American. We 
find many expressions concerning the fall of British tyranny, 
and as early as 1753, one Le Blanc de Villeneuve wrote " Le 
Pere Indian." We find the students of Yale, under their 
ministerial president, presenting Barnabas Bidwell's "The 
Mercenary Match" (1785). In another direction, an ac- 
tivity strictly modern in its haste has been noted in these 
words by the historian, Clapp : " It was the custom in the 
earlier days of the theatre to signalize passing events by such 
appropriate notice as the resources of the stage would permit. 
The proposed launch of the frigate * Constitution,' which was 
set down for September 20, 1797, was regarded by Manager 
Hodgkinson as an event worthy of his attention. In forty- 
eight hours he completed a very passable piece, and an- 
nounced its performance." 

These several records will show that the first definite 
tendency to note in American drama is that the subject- 
matter, when it drew upon American life and manners, 
arranged itself in accord with periods in American history. 
There were, for example, definite Indian plays,^ some smack- 

* In an article on "The American Play," by Laurence Hutton 
(Lippincott, 37: 289-98, March, 1886), the following picturesque 
titles are recorded : ' ' Sassacus ; or, The Indian Wife "; " Kairrissah ' ' ; 
**Oroloosa"; Outalassie"; ''The Pawnee Chief"; "Onylda; or, 
The Pequot Maid"; ''Ontiata; or, The Indian Heroine"; "Osceola"; 
"Oroonoka"; "Tuscatomba"; "Wacousta"; "Tutoona"; "Yem- 
assee"; "Wissahickon." See also A. E. Lancaster's "Historical 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 45 

ing of the aboriginal. But to-day, the only ones that strike 
the memory are John Brougham's clever " Po-ca-hon-tas/' 
John Augustus Stone's "Metamora; or, The Last of the 
Wampanoags," and the recent attempt made by Mary Austin 
in " The Arrow Maker." There were Revolutionary dramas, 
ranging from John D. Burke's "Bunker Hill; or, The Death 
of Gen. Warren" (1798) and Dunlap's "Andre" (1798) 
to W. loor's " The Battle of the Eutaw Springs, and Evac- 
uation of Charleston; or. The Glorious 14th of December,- 
1782," first presented in Charleston during 1817. The 
American historical plays of this period were strictly patri- 
otic, as the titles will imply; they were heroic, bombastic, 
and, as Lancaster has noted, filled with " romantic traditions, 
local annals, individual eccentricity, temporary sensation, 
spread-eagle patriotism, and redskin melodrama." It is 
enough to record the heroic measures of Hugh Henry Brack- 
enridge's "The Battle of Bunker Hill" (1776), or the same 
author's dramatic elegy on "The Death of General Mont- 
gomery at the Siege of Quebec" (1777). James Nelson 
Barker wrote "The Indian Princess" (1808) and "Super- 
stition" (1823), and M. M. Noah tried his hand at "Marion; 
or. The Hero of Lake George." There is no end to the plays 
based on incidents of the Revolution or of the War of 1812.^ 

American Plays," Chautauquan, 31: 359-64 (1900). James Rees 
declares that the reaction against Indian plays began in 1846. 
G. W. P. Custis wrote two Indian dramas: "The Indian Prophecy" 
(1828) and "Pocahontas" (1830). 

1 Note for example C. E. Grice's "The Battle of New Orleans"; 
George Cockings' "The Conquest of Canada"; S. B. H. Judah's 
"A Tale of Lexington"; Oliver B. Bunce's "Love in '76" (a social 
rather than a war play); and countless others that find record in 
Oscar Wegelin's "Early American Plays (1714-1830)"; in Robert 
F. Roden's "Later American Plays (1831-1900)"; in an "Index to 
American Poetry and Plays in the Collection of C. Fiske Harris" 
(1874); in "More Early American Plays," Ldt. Collect, 2:82-84; in 
published accounts of famous collections of plays owned by the late 
Thos. J. McKee (144 plays); in the Brinley American Library 



46 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

x\nd the striking characteristic of many of these plays was 
that in them representations of live historical personages 
were introduced. When Victor Mapes's "Captain Barring- 
ton" (1903) actually brought the figure of Washington on 
the boards, people showed surprise, and, to the credit of the 
actor playing the role, they went away further surprised 
that their patriotic sensibilities were not shocked, for 
historic characters on the stage flavor of the Eden Musee. 

But at close range, as in the instance of Royall Tyler, our 
first American dramatist, in contradistinction to Robert 
Hunter, whose " x\ndroboros " was the first dramatic piece 
printed in America (1714), there was no hesitancy regarding 
historical representation or political allusions. Concerning 
Dunlap's heroic blank- verse drama of "Andr^," as Pro- 
fessor Matthews has pointed out, the piece was produced on 
March 30, 1798, with Arnold and Washington still alive, and 
close upon the incident of Andre's hanging in 1780. Wash- 
ington was introduced as one of the characters. The type of 
play marking the Revolution and the War of 1812 was one 
of feeling, in which Royalist and American bandied words. 

Mr. Ford calls attention to the fact that as early as 1690 
the African slave was dealt with in a drama by one Afara 
Behn, a play called "The Widow Ranter; or. Bacon in 
Virginia." But the most portentous drama on the subject 
proved to be the dramatization of Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin." The novel was published in 1851, and was 
almost immediately prepared for the stage by George L. 
Aitkin, and first presented at the Troy Museum in 1852. 
This popularity undoubtedly suggested to Dion Boucicault 
the spirit for his "The Octoroon; or. Life in Louisiana," 
which was produced toward the end of 1859. 

catalogue; in the Beck and Duyckinck Collections (New York 
Public Library); and in a collection owned by the Brown Univer- 
sity Library. 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 47 

These types never die out. Dunlap's "Andre" may be 
balanced by Clyde Fitch's "Major Andre"; J. N. Barker's 
"Superstition" by Herman Hagerdorn's version of "The 
Witch"; "Uncle Tom's Cabin" by Edward Sheldon's 
"The Nigger." The differences to be found in them lie 
in their several techniques, and in their economic and social 
approaches. If they are not heard of to-day, it is because 
their vitality was momentary. Take such titles as Charles 
Gayler's "Bull Run"; as "The Federal Spy; or, PauHne of 
the Potomac" and "Union Prisoners; or, the Patriot's 
Daughter." They were hammered out in moments of 
heat, and possessed none of the healthy value of Gillette's 
"Secret Service." 

The next characteristic" to note jn American drama 
influence of Germany upon the theatre, not only with the 
plays of Schiller, but more particularly with the prolific 
Kotzebue's (1761-1819) examples of melodrama. We 
"know, for instance, how thoroughly influenced William 
Dunlap^ (1766-1839) became by such pieces; how prone he 
was to be interested in drama of the type of "Douglas "and 
"Venice Preserved." Hence, a large part of his time was 
spent in translating Kotzebue,^ after he had gone to the 
trouble of mastering German for that special purpose. 
Dunlap was our first dramatic manipulator; he was the 
first theatre manager to illustrate how readily foreign mate- 
rial might be turned to American advantage, without costing 

much.^ 

« 

1 See Publications of the Dunlap Society. Much valuable 
material on Dunlap is owned by the New York Historical Society. 
See "Publications," vol. 14, vol. 15, vol. 24, vol. 30, for Dunlap's 
diary. 

2 Charles Smith (b. 1768) likewise translated Kotzebue. See 
Wegelin. 

^ See Frederick H. Wilkin's "Early Influence of German Litera- 
ture in America," Americana Germanica, vol. 3, no. 2, 1899, 



48 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

It is strange that Tyler (1758-1826) on one hand, and that 
Dunlap on the other, did not at first approach the theatre 
with any direct intention of writing for it. In fact, the 
former, graduate of Harvard, was a soldier and a lawyer, 
and had never been to the theatre in his life until sent to 
New York on diplomatic service relating to Shays' Rebel- 
lion. Then it was that the stage took hold of him, and 
within a few weeks he had written "The Contrast" (1787), 
crude but pleasing to the tastes of Wignell, low comedian. 
Tyler seems to have been quite indifferent to his success, 
though he immediately proceeded to write the libretto for 
a comic opera, "May-day in Town; or, New York in an 
Uproar," and some years after, in 1797, he was ready with 
"A Good Spec; or, Land in the Moon," dealing with the 
Yazoo scandal in Georgia. 

During this time, Dunlap was in Europe, and had heard 
nothing of Tyler's favor with "The Contrast." He had 
been studying art under Benjamin West, and though he 
could boast of a liking for the theatre in London, withKemble, 
Mrs. Siddons, Palmer, Mrs. Jordan, Mrs. Abingdon, and Miss 
Farren in the ascendancy, he might not be considered to 
have been in the least stage-struck. But Tyler fired his 
enthusiasm, and he immediately began on that career which 
was to cover several decades, and to win for him the name of 
"Father of the American Drama." His first play — dis- 
counting his youthful dramatization of " The Arabian Nights," 
— was "Modest Soldier; or. Love in New York," and was 
never mounted. During 1789, "The Father; or, American 

pp. 103-205. Note also the following: C. F. Brede's "Schiller on the 
Philadelphia Stage, to the year 1830 "; W. H. Carruth's " Schiller 
and America"; E. C. Parry's "Schiller in America." Also read 
Kuno Francke's "Schiller's Message to Modern Life," Atlantic, 95: 
611-16, See Ch. Rabany's "Kotzebue: sa Vie et son Temps," 
Paris, 1893; also a dissertation by Walter Sellier on "Kotzebue in 
England." 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 49 

Shandy ism" was given at the New York John Street Theatre 

— a play which was revised in 1807 under the title of "Father 
of an Only Child." It was after this that he became man- 
ager of a theatre — at first with Hallam and Hodgkinson, 
but afterwards by himself.^ 

There is a character in "The Contrast" which is a definite 
drawing of Yankee eccentricities, and may be taken as the 
first effort of an American dramatist to be subtly American. 
It suggests another tendency in the subject-matter we are 
tracing: that effort to catch the national traits marking 
the American people. The general fault in this type of 
play has been very well stated by Professor Matthews i^ 

" An apt epigram is afloat — ascribed to Mr. Boucicault 

— to the effect that ' All that the Americans seem to recog- 
nize as dramatic here is the caricature of character, and that 
is what the successful plays are — caricature of eccentric 
character set in a weak dramatic framework.' This, like 
most epigrams, is a smart setting of a half-truth. Ameri- 
cans recognize the character through the caricature, accepting 
the latter only for lack of the former. The want is want of 
art on the part of the authors." 

But though such further efforts as those of Samuel Wood- 
worth in "The Forest Rose; or, American Farmers" (1825) 

1 In the Dunlap Soc. edition of "The Father; or, American 
Shandyism," with an introduction by Thos J. McKee, there is a 
complete bibliography of sixty-three plays; see pp. x-xi. During 
1806, Dunlap, having retired from active theatre work, wrote his 
history of the theatre, and then published four volumes comprising 
fifteen of his plays; he also resumed his work as an artist. An 
excellent picture of Dunlap forms the frontispiece for Wegelin's 
"Early American Plays." See also the Dunlap Soc. edition of 
"Andre," edited by Brander Matthews (1887). Tyler's "The 
Contrast" was reprinted by the Dunlap Soc, in 1887. For a por- 
trait of Tyler, see New Eng. Mag., 1894, n.s., 9: 675. 

2 "The American on the Stage," Century, 18: 321-33, July, 187&. 
See also Laurence Hutton's "The American Play," Lippincott, 37: 
289-98, March, 1886. 



50 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

may be regarded in the historical evolution, the Yankee 
came, not by way of literary dramatic expression, but by 
way of eccentric American acting. If one should desire the 
real cause for the American type, it would be necessary to 
examine into the nature and temperament of the comedians, 
George H. Hill and James H. Hackett.^ The fact is, Hackett 
assumed the role of Jonathan Ploughboy in Woodworth's 
pastoral, and then, being identified with things American, 
set to work to create such characterizations as Rij:) Van 
Winkle, Col. Nimrod Wildfire in James K. Paulding's "The 
Lion of the West" (1831), — which proved to be so popular 
that Bayle Bernard introduced the same character in a 
drama entitled "The Kentuckian," — and three Dutch Gov- 
ernors, in a play of that title, which Bernard dramatized 
from Irving's "Knickerbocker History." 

It was the genius of the actors, therefore,.j^at encouraged 
the American type. Their ability to create an accent, as 
broad and as humorous as their French or Irish, resulted in 
a following for the eccentric in drama. Hackett's Yankee 
Solomon Swap, and his Horse-shoe Robinson, based on John 
P. Kennedy's novel, were dependent absolutely upon the 
live personality of the player. Anyone reading J. S. 
Jones' "The People's Lawyer," ^ in which occurs the char- 
acter of Solon Shingle, a country teamster, would hardly 
draw from it what audiences drew from the work of John 
E. Owens, or of George H. Hill when it was first played at 
the Boston National, in 1839. The required costume of 
Solon would alone measure the broadness of the caricature: 
"Dark drab old-fashioned surtout with capes. Sheep's 

^ See my "Famous Actor-Families in America" for a chapter on 
"The Hacketts." In the same volume, under "The Jeffersons," 
will be found traced the evolution of "Rip Van Winkle." See 
French's Standard Drama, 174, for Burke's version. 

2 French's Standard Drama, 248. See also in the same series, 
173, "The Vermont Wool-dealer," a farce. 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 51 

grey trowsers, lead colored striped vest, old style black 
stock, cow-hide boots, broad-brimmed low-crowned hat, 
bald-headed flaxen wig." The same latitude is to be found 
in C. A. Logan's "Yankee Land'' ^ which, produced at the 
Park Theatre in 1834, introduced Hackett as Lot Sap 
Sago. 

Tom Taylor, quick to fathom the popular appeal, now 
prepared " Our American Cousin," in which Asa Trenchard, 
the rough, whole-souled Yankee, was pitted against Dun- 
dreary. This was as surely the outcome of Hackett's Yankee 
victories as Davy Crockett was the successor of Nimrod Wild- 
fire. 

The land resounded with the Yankee brogue, or with 
local eccentricities, North^ South, East, and West.^ The 
first of Lowell's "Biglow Papers" appeared in 1846 ; Mark 
Twain fixed indelibly life on the Mississippi River in the 
early '50's; Bret Harte, in 1854, went to California to catch 
the mountain dialect and the mountain manner. In the 
South, there was a whole line of humorists, including Joseph 
G. Baldwin, Augustus B. Longstreet, W. T. Thompson, and 
J. J. Hooper, who caught the eccentric character of the Black 
Belt. As far as the stage was concerned, a good actor 
could make a bad play go, but, because of the flimsy material, 
the play ceased with the actor. Playgoers understand, for 
example, what Mark Twain and Charles Dudley Warner's 
"The Gilded Age" suffered from the hands of George B. 
Dinsmore, who, unauthorized, put Colonel Sellers in a play. 
Litigation ensued, and the manuscript reverted to Mr. 
Clemens, who touched it up, but John T. Raymond alone 

^ French's Minor Drama, 202. 

2 Modern instances of typal books from which successful drama- 
tizations have been made are plentiful; for example, Annie Hagen 
Rice's "Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch" and Edward Noyes 
Westcott's "David Harum." 



52 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

made Sellers.^ According to Howells, who wrote of it in 
1875, the play was "scarcely more than a sketch, a frame- 
work almost as naked as that which the Italians used to clothe 
on with their commedia d'arte; and it [was] as unlike good 
literature as many other excellent acting plays. ... [It was] 
true, in its broad way, to American conditions, and [was] 
a fair and just satire upon our generally recognized social 
and political corruptions." ^ 

Such social satire, slightly vulgarized, was to be found in 
B. E. Woolf's"The Mighty Dollar" (1875), which, as we have 
said, W. J. Florence made so famous by his characterization 
of Judge Bardwell Slote, a speculative drama whose modern 
counterpart some critics detected in W. H. Crane's delin- 
eation of Hannibal Rivers in "The Senator" (1890). These 
national types narrowed down to local idols, and no more 
popular character was known to the stage of 1848 than Mose, 
a New York Fire Boy, whom Chanfrau personated in "A 
Glance at New York." Reading it through, one discovers 
strange local allusions marking the time, but more than 
that one detects the identical movement so familiar in the 
humor of modern melodrama. I imagine Mose might slip 
into the cast of "Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model" with 
perfect impunity. It is the tough type later dealt with in 
Townsend's "Chimmie Fadden" and in Owen Kildare's 
"My Mamie Rose," but with none of the naturahsm of 
present day technique. It was familiar rough-and-tumble 
drama, with glaring pathos, coarse humor, and burlesque 
interruptions. 

But already we note this fact concerning the regard of the 
American dramatist, in his effort to create the American 

* See chapter on Raymond by Franklyn Fyles, contained in the 
second volume of McKay and Wingate's "Famous American 
Actors of To-day." 

» Atlantic, 35: 749, June, 1875. 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 53 

type he was obliged to create American condition. And we 
soon find the trail of society drama sketching the manners 
and customs of distinct decades. That is why, in reading 
the^early Aihencan dramas, it were well to connect Mrs. 
Mowatt's " Fashion " (1845) and Mrs. Sidney F. Bateman's 
"Self" (1856) with the reading of Fanny Kemble's New 
York experiences and with the travels of Tyrone Power. 
John Brougham came to New York around 1842, and he 
used to shoot birds in the woods near Twenty-third Street, 
and to take suburban drives around the old reservoir on 
Forty-second Street, where the New York Public Library 
now stands. 

The current papers seemed surprised over the facility of 
ordinary dialogue used in these plays — dialogue containing 
local allusion of the street and parlor of that time, intro- 
ducing the conventional English dialect, exploiting the 
parvenu desire to utter French phrases, making use of negro 
dialect as incongruous as that resorted to by Poe in "The 
Gold Bug." One may trace the period by the references to 
civic improvements, as when Mrs. Bateman makes one of 
her characters speak of horses slipping on the Russ pave- 
ments. There is a slight touch of Harriet Martineau's 
political economy in attitudes strictly feminine. 

At the time of Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion," New York 
whirled around Canal Street. All society drama seemed to 
know but one situation : the mad rush after money and social 
prestige at the moment when financial ruin threatened a 
family. It sought to be satire aimed particularly at the effort 
to be English, for the American is introduced breezily and 
roughly, — note Adam Trueman, the farmer, in "Fashion." 
Lower Broadway was the promenade, with its busses and 
carriages rolling out into the country — possibly to Central 
Park — carrying parties for recreation. The theatres were 
clustered around the lower end of New York when "Fashion" 



54 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

was presented at the Park Theatre (March 24, 1845), 
opposite the old Astor House on Vesey Street. Even then 
theatrical life had flowed from the Battery to Park Row; it 
was soon to creep up Broadway, the Wallacks going from 
Brougham's Lyceum near Broome Street on Broadway to 
Thirteenth Street, thence to Thirtieth. New York theatres 
have moved with the parks. At one time. Twenty-third 
Street was considered a central location for drama, but now 
Forty-second Street seems to be the established point of 
activity. Theatrical conditions have enlarged since the 
days of " Fashion, " and so has social life. 

Poe^ was not quite in accord with the "modern drama" 
of his day, yet, despite his prejudiced feeling, his comments 
anent "Fashion" have truth in them. If I quote him at 
length, it is to illustrate how aloof he was, nevertheless, from 
the true spirit of the theatre, even though his literary sense 
measured aptly the " monstrous inartisticalities." He wrote: 

"The day has at length arrived when men demand ra- 
tionalities in place of conventionalities. It will no longer do 
to copy, even with absolute accuracy, the whole tone of even 
so ingenious and really spirited a thing as the * School for 
Scandal.' ^ It was comparatively good in its day, but it 
would be positively bad at the present day, and imitations 
of it are inadmissible at any day. 

" Bearing in mind the spirit of these observations, we may 
say that ' Fashion' is theatrical but not dramatic. It is a 
pretty well-arranged selection from the usual routine of 
stage characters, and stage manoeuvres — but there is not 
one particle of any nature, beyond greenroom nature, about 

^ The over-conscientiousness of Foe's criticism is seen in his con- 
fession {Broadivay Journal, April 5, 1845) that since its opening he 
had been to Mrs. Mowatt's "Fashion" every night, in order to 
determine the full extent of its merits and demerits. 

2 See "Later Criticism" (V) in Virginia edition of his works. 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 55 

it. No such events ever happened in fact, or ever could 
happen, as happen in 'Fashion/ Nor are we quarrehng, 
now, with the mere exaggeration of character or incident; 
were this all, the play, although bad as comedy, might be 
good as farce, of which the exaggeration of possible incon- 
gruities is the chief element. Our faultfinding is on the 
score of deficiency in verisimilitude — in natural art — that 
is to say, in art based on the natural laws of man's heart and 
understanding." 

It is this violent distortion which marks Boucicault's 
"The Streets of New York" (1857), Daly's "Under the 
Gaslight" (1867), and Howard's "Saratoga" (1870), equally 
as lacking in verisimilitude as "Fashion" or as " Self." In 
contrast with these, Langdon Mitchell's "The New York 
Idea" (1906) is a striking and excellent example of the 
progress made in American social drama. The early stage 
cared nothing for invention or plot, and its wit lay in carica- 
ture. Mr. Mitchell's comedy^ is good reading; it has literary 
tone, and, above all, it lacks grotesque wit, substituting 
instead brilliant humor. 

The progress of the American theatre is marked by the 
manager as well as by the actor. John Brougham,^ of 
Irish extraction, did much for the stage practically as well as 
literarily. His mind was prolific in the interests of W. E. 
Burton, who was himself a devotee of the pen. Comedies, 
farces, melodramas, comediettas, dramatizations, especially 
of Dickens, spectaculars and burlesques are to the credit of 
Brougham,^ yet not one of his plays has had vitality 
enough to hold the boards. Yet in the '50's, no man 
was more prominent than he — writer, manager, and 
actor. 

* Printed privately. 

2 See Life by William Winter; see also the latter's "Other Days." 

3 See Wegelin. 



56 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Succeeding him came the Wallack galaxy, J. W. Wallack 
revising Congreve's " Love for Love, " and Lester Wallack 
(1820-1888) writing "Two to One; or. The King's Visit" 
(1854), "First Impressions" (1856), "The Veteran" (1859), 
"The Romance of a Poor Young Man" (1859), "Central 
Park" (1861), and "Rosedale" (1863). Close upon the 
brilliancy of Wallack's stock companies came Palmer's 
Union Square Theatre Company,^ which carried its prestige 
to the Madison Square Theatre and thence to the Lyceum, 
when Daniel Frohman came into the horizon. In the mean- 
time, Augustin Daly (1838-1899), in 1862, adapted "Leah, 
the Forsaken" from Mosenthal, and therewith began his 
career, which was to include his pruning and arranging of 
the Elizabethan drama, and his adaptations of French pieces 
like "Frou-Frou." Such a survey as is here given cannot 
ignore the managerial regime of Laura Keene, or the drama- 
tization of "Camille" by Matilda Heron (1856). 

But Wallack with his English proclivities, and Palmer with 
his numerous D'Ennery and Sardou adaptations by A. R. 
Cazauran, which were deprived of social significance, and 
Daly with his German dependence, might hardly be deemed 
influences on the American dramatist, until 1870 brought 
Bronson Howard to the field. Yet these managers had 
much to say concerning the American drama. In 1893, 
Palmer 2 wrote, apropos of Bartley Campbell and his contem- 
poraries: 

"The prominent evil tendency of the American writer has 
been to look for his types among his countrymen of the baser 
sort, who never by any possibility pronounce English words 
properly and who seem to take the greatest pains to speak 

* See The American Magazine, 9:1-23, Nov., 1888, an article 
on Palmer by George Edgar Montgomery. The Boston Museum 
was dominated by the personality of manager Field. 

^ Forum, 15:614-20. 




Photo, by AtmS Dupont 



AuGusTix Dai.y 



AMERICAN DRAMA FROM 1750 TO 1870 57 

slang and utter vulgarisms, and to act as if good manners 
were a reproach instead of an accomplishment." 

Augustin Daly became general, after specifying that the 
American dramatist of his day sought to emulate the master- 
pieces of modern fiction. He wrote (1886) : 

"Boker might have idealized the Kentucky tragedy in- 
stead of the Rimini drama, and Bird might have made his 
Syartacus an Indian Chief — but our national theatre has 
lost nothing by their omission. The present masterpieces 
of the stage, in every tongue, are pictures of the passions of 
mankind in general." 

Finally, I quote the opinions of Boucicault,^ whose dramas 
are prolific and whose plots are ingenious — Boucicault, 
the sentimentalist, whose Irish humor was not native, but 
who directed himself into native channels because he was 
enough of the playwright to give the public what was 
opportune, hke "The Relief of Lucknow" (1858). He 
deplored "the philosophical school of sociology," and dep- 
recated the naturalism of Zola and the realism of Ibsen. 
Given always to broad expressions of opinion, he wrote (1890) : 

" Tragedy and high comedy will always be held in respect 
on the future American stage, but it seems probable that the 
drama of modern life, the reflex of the period, will prevail 
over every other kind of entertainment. This drama will 
present a character, or a group of characters, not a compli- 
cated or sensational action, affording a physiological study 
by way of illustration, not by way of description." 

Thus spoke those most prominent in the theatrical field 
before the advent of Charles and Daniel Frohman, before 
the actual period when the American dramatist found it an 
advantage to be American. There are other tendencies in 
the development, to be noted in the next chapter, but this 
summary will be suflicient to indicate that, though the body 

* Arena, 2: 641-52, Nov., 1890. 



58 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

of American drama is large, its form is out of fashion and is of 
interest simply as history or as a measm-e of histrionic ability. 

We do not repudiate the development of American drama 
before 1870, but we do not rank it as high. We revere the 
names of Booth and Barrett, of Jefferson and Holland, of 
Davenport, Gilbert, and Clarke, of Laura Keene and Char- 
lotte Cushman. But the drama in those days developed 
under peculiar social and economic conditions which are 
over; the type, the form, and the manner are over. 

We are sure to find the average and the below-the-average 
in each and every age. There was as much mediocre stage 
material before 1870 as after, in fact more. I only question 
a production in the light of what I know of my time; I test 
its artistic quality by whatever culture I may have; I 
challenge its morality by what I have learned of the moral 
atmosphere in which I live. No critic should undervalue or 
overvalue. But the service of an historical perspective in 
such a survey as this lies in the conclusions which result. 
For one who has read dramatic history aright can see that 
the modern theatre calls for different acting because of the 
change in stage technique. The business of the theatre to- 
day cannot be managed as Booth mismanaged his theatre in 
New York. If the drama often lies in the hands of money- 
changers, such condition is a business condition which has to 
alter before art may flourish. The drama must pass through 
its evolution, through its periods of types and conditions. 
If people are interested in social reform, it must reflect 
society. Tlmt seems to be where it is to-day. 

Before 1870, the American dramatist, as we take him in 
the studies to follow, did not exist. But effort toward 
Americanism did find root, even as early as Royall Tyler, 
and in tracing this persistent effort is to be found the chief 
value of any literal historical survey. 



CHAPTER IV 

OUR LITERARY AND OUR CLOSET-DRAMA 



Dramatic history clearly demonstrates to the student that 
while it is not necessary for a play to be literature, any play 
that is true to the essentials of that segment of life with 
which it deals cannot help but be literature. Yet neither 
proposition implies that in order to be literature, drama 
needs must sacrifice its fundamental moving and progres- 
sive character. 

Tradition creates stolid impressions, and after 1830, 
when Hugo and Dumas set the dramatic pace, tragedy on 
every hand was couched in nothing but a grandiloquent 
manner. Every one copied the Elizabethans, and it was 
considered false to theatrical standards to select any sub- 
ject for stage treatment that would not be aloof and most 
likely historical. Our American authors were interested 
in foreign literature; Longfellow, Lowell, and later, Bayard 
Taylor, showed enthusiasm for continental ideas, mediaeval 
or modern. 

In one respect, the literary drama in America flourished 
as it did in England — through the support and interest 
of the actor. But while the American literary type was 
nought in comparison with the British type, Edwin Forrest 
in magnitude was no inferior to Macready and Irving, 
who stood sponsors for Browning and Tennyson. Except 
for the historical perspective, this phase of American drama 



60 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

might be dismissed in a general way, but Forrest, through 
power and animal magnetism, carried many a verbose text 
across the footlights. His whole method as an actor en- 
couraged such pieces as Stone's "Metamora," Bird's "The 
Gladiator," and Conrad's "Jack Cade." 

Yet, while there is a certain rolling sonorousness in these, 
they are not native in the sense that the subject matter 
was native to the soil. They were imitative, as John Howard 
Payne was imitative in "Brutus; or, the Fall of Tarquin" 
(1818). The old English drama was the model, while Italy, 
Spain, or Germany appeared to be the locality. In choice 
of subject alone, these literary aspirants for the drama 
exhibited their preconceived notions as to tragedy. The 
Southerners who wrote dramas knew nothing outside of 
foreign realms. A. J. Requier became author of "The 
Spanish Exile" (1842); George Henry Miles wrote "Mo- 
hammed" (1850), "De Soto" (1853), and "Seiior Valiente" 
(1858); Caroline Lee Hentz published a five-act tragedy, 
"De Lara; or. The Moorish Bride" (1843); while Isaac 
Harby, in the stream of classic tradition and of Kotzebue 
influence, wrote "Alexander Severus" (1807) and " Alberti" 
(1819).! 

What Professor Matthews says of England may very 
well be said of America: that its "literature is strewed with 
wrecked tragedies, lofty enough in aspiration, but pitifully 
lacking in imagination." If these pieces found their way 
to the stage, they did so because they were nurtured by the 
mistaken beliefs of some manager. When J. W. Wallack 
was in charge of The National, he had faith in the dra- 
matic powers of Nathaniel P. Willis, but, save in " Tortesa, 
the Usurer" (1839), Willis cannot be said to have approached 
the requirements of the stage. Even in "Tortesa" he was 

1 See Bibliography: "Southern Fiction Prior to 1860." Jamea 
Gibson Johnson. Charlottesville, Va., 1909. 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRAMA 61 

undramatic though oratorical; he had read Hugo, and he 
knew his Shy lock and his Juliet. In fact, these early authors 
who wrote literary or closet-dramas were so steeped in 
Shakespeare that echoes of the great poet's lines are easily 
detected everywhere. Boker's '* Francesca da Rimini,'' his 
most suitably theatrical play, is simply riddled with Eliza- 
bethan harmonies — lines barely changed save to make 
the verse weaker, and containing the identical sentiment 
put in a less inevitable way. 

The Knickerbocker, the New England, the Philadelphia, 
and the Southern schools, therefore, held the same notions 
regarding the drama as a readable and as an actable medium. 
The literary man's attitude toward the theatre was that of 
the dilettante; it was amateurish, though there was a sincere 
desire on his part to excel in the art. But the litterateur had 
a mistaken notion as to the province of the theatre, and 
he was not willing to serve apprenticeship. Besides which, 
in his choice of subject, he was prompted by the old-fashioned 
broadness of acting, and he wrote romantic melodrama — 
romantic in a sort of external psychology, but statuesque 
in action. That notion of the heroic has persisted, as we 
shall see when we come to consider the Tragic Spirit and the 
American people. 

It is false, however, to separate literature and drama. 
While it is legitimate to accept the closet-drama as a form 
in itself, it is not legitimate to consider it as in any way 
necessary to the theatre. It is a hybrid type which Professor 
Matthews rightly notes appeared and appears only at times 
when literature and the theatre are divorced.^ Every poet 
who has written a play has intended it for the stage, but 
he has approached his task wrongly. And so we begin to 
realize the hopelessness of clriming the closet-drama as part 

1 See " The Legitimacy of the Closet-Drama." Brander Matthews. 
Scribner'Sy February, 1908. 



62 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

of the strength of the theatre, when we read H. A. Beers' 
opinion of it : 

"[The closet-dramatist] need not sacrifice truth of char- 
acter and probabiHty of plot to the need of highly accentu- 
ated situations. He does not have to consider whether a 
speech is too long, too ornate in diction, too deeply thought- 
ful for recitation by an actor. If the action lags at certain 
points, let it lag. In short, as the aim of the closet-dramatist 
is other than the playwright's, so his methods may be 
independent." 

This statement gives a false impression of the relation 
between literature and drama; one is a principle of thought 
and expression; the other is a form of thought and expres- 
sion. To deny that drama cannot come within the category 
of literature is to deny that drama may ever have a claim 
to permanence. True literature is unconscious excellence. 
Shakespeare wrote plays rather than poetry, yet the poetry 
in them preserves them, and they live because, though the 
action is generally conventional, the spiritual quality and 
the mental value are there without hurting the movement 
of the whole. Modern drama, alone, refutes the claim that 
closet-plays are closet-plays simply because they aim to be 
literature. Effective stage pieces, as a rule, have not been 
pleasing to read, but that is the fault of the literary sense 
of the author who has aimed for appreciation through out- 
ward theatrical effect. 

There are two sentences in Professor Matthews' "The 
Literary Merit of Our Latter-day Drama" ^ which point 
to cardinal weaknesses in the closet-drama. He claims that 
"a dramatist who fails to please the play -going public of 
his own time will never have another chance," and again 
he writes that "style is the great antiseptic, no doubt, but 
style cannot bestow life on the still-born." In both of these 

1 See "Inquiries and Opinions." 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRMIA 63 

respects, closet-dramas have failed, and, therefore, as a stage 
consideration, they exert no influence. Managers lose when- 
ever they mount such plays, for usually literature of this 
kind cares nothing for the practical limitation of technique 
or of stage accessory. If it is not a drama of ideas, it is a 
drama of imagery; it is discursive rather than concentrated; 
it is slow-moving rather than active; it is poetic rather than 
dramatic. 

Longfellow, after seeing "The Vicar of Wakefield" in 
dramatization, was convinced of the superiority of dramatic 
representation over narrative. But, on the other hand, he 
was never keenly alive to the actions and reactions of life, 
which manifest themselves in active situations rather than 
in pictures. We find him, therefore, writing as early as 
1845: "Felt more than ever to-day the difference between 
my ideal home-world of Poetry, and the outer, actual, tan- 
gible Prose-world. V»Tien I go out of the precincts of my 
study, down the village street to college, hov/ the scaffolding 
about the Palace of Song comes rattling and clattering down." 
"The Spanish Student" (1843) and the "Tragedies" failed 
to find their way to the stage. 

In other words, the closet-dramatist has suffered because 
he has been too contemplative on one hand, and because, 
on the other, he has placed too much attention upon orna- 
mentation. W. D. Ho wells and Henry James reduced the 
oratorical to terms of modern prose rhythm, and in their 
dialogues they came very near the requirements of the 
stage. Mr. Ho wells' farces have all been published, ^ and 
their literary flavor once more suggests to us a weakness 
in the argument that literature and drama are incompatible. 
The fault with Mr. Howells lies in the fact that his outlook 
upon life is narrative, and that he is too faithful in noting 

^ See partial list in Roden's "Later American Plays." See also 
catalogues of Harper & Bros. 



64 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

small conversation. But Mr. Howells has not been an in- 
fluence in American drama, however much his interest has 
been centered on the stage. In 1877, Lawrence Barrett 
appeared in his "Counterfeit Presentment," and in 1878 
appeared in his " Yorick's Love." 

But, like Henry James and Hamlin Garland, Mr. Howells 
has a theoretical view of drama. All of them are interested 
in the stage from the narrative and inventive standpoints; 
they are pleased with the inventions, the ideas, the character- 
izations, the moral problems, the philosophy, the social 
attitudes, but the dramatic manner does not concern them. 
They disdain the theatrical, not realizing that consistent 
theatricalism may enter the realms of literature. Charles 
Klein, for instance, has misused theatricalism, though his 
plays have been popular, and in many of their situations 
effective. In no way are his plays closet-dramas; they 
are thoroughly actable. But he oftentimes perverts what 
the literary dramatist fails to use at all. 

I shall later speak of the dramatic sense possessed both 
by Mr. Howells and Mr. James; even in their narrative, 
they realize the essence of comedy — that essence which 
would be of greatest benefit to the American stage were it 
possessed by the American dramatist. In comparison with 
the early literary coteries, however, Howells and James are 
nearer the real spirit of the modern drama. 

The popular play is being published to-day for a reading 
public eager to have it; and gradually the literary following 
is coming to realize that simply because of the fact that a 
drama is actable is no reason that is it not also readable. 
Those who try to pore through Sheridan Knowles' "Brutus" 
or Conrad's "Jack Cade" will realize how much of the suc- 
cess was due to acting; in fact how much of the dialogue 
was written for the actor. Henry Arthur Jones is a great 
believer in the literary value of modern drama, upholding 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRAMA 65 

the idea that if a play is truly alive, it must be literature.^ 
And his belief jBnds full expression in the following: 

"If you have faithfully and searchingly studied your 
fellow-citizens; if you have selected from amongst them 
those characters that are interesting in themselves, and that 
also possess an enduring human interest; if, in studying 
these interesting personalities, you have severely selected, 
from the mass of their sayings and doings and impulses, 
those words and deeds and tendencies which mark them 
at once as individuals and as types; if you have then recast 
and re-imagined all the materials; if you have cunningly 
shaped them into a story of progressive and accumulative 
action; if you have done all this, though you may not have 
used a single word but what is spoken in ordinary American 
intercourse to-day, I will venture to say that you have 
written a piece of live American literature." 



II 

All of our literary men have been interested in the theatre. 
One of the Dunlap publications ^ gives opening addresses in 
verse written by Washington Irving, Fitz-Greene Halleck, 
Bret Harte, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and others on occasions 
when theatres were opened. Percy Mackaye is a recent 
type of the occasional poet, having read lines when the 
corner-stone for the New Theatre was laid. But our literary 
men, whether of America or of England, have always had a 
hidden contempt for the theatre. This was largely because 
they identified drama with the theatrical life which supports 
it. Washington Irving's interest in the theatre brought 

* See a lecture by Jones delivered at Yale University, entitled 
"Literature and the Modern Drama;" published in the Atlantic, 
December, 1906, pp. 796-807. 

2 No. 3, 1867. 



66 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

him in close touch with John Howard Payne, who was abetted 
in his career by Edmund Kean. Payne had not only been 
an actor himself, becoming a friend of Talma, but he was 
brought up in the school of Home's "Douglas.'* 

John Augustus Stone (1801-1834),^ likewise, was an actor, 
and approached play writing from the inside. His "Meta- 
mora" took the prize offered by Forrest for the best American 
play. Where this actor was beneficial to the native play- 
WTight was in the fact that he paid well for what he wanted, 
while the American manager of that day could bring plays 
from England, or translate continental successes, with little 
or no expense. 

Forrest stood sponsor for Richard Penn Smith, author 
of "Caius Marius," and likewise presented Robert Mont- 
gomery Bird's (1803-1854) "The Gladiator" (1831) in a 
bold and impressive manner. The Philadelphia physician, 
who was likewise a novelist, wrote in addition " The Broker 
of Bogota." 2 But perhaps Forrest's most powerful repre- 
sentation, because of its democratic spirit, was his role in 
Robert T. Conrad's (1810-1858) » "Jack Cade; or. The 
Bondman of Kent" (1868), a play of patriotic scope. His 
acting in this piece was fierce with " the most intense feeling 
of the wrongs and charms of the oppressed common people." 
One contemporary account speaks of his being "a sort of 
dramatic Demosthenes, rousing the cowardly and slum- 

^ Stone produced a tragedy "Fauntleroy," Charleston, S. C; 
he also wrote ''The Demoniac;" "Tancred;" "The Restoration; or, 
The Diamond Cross;" "The Ancient Briton" (1833); and "The 
Golden Fleece." He killed himself. 

2 His other dramas were "Oraloosa" (1832); "The Cowled Lover;" 
"Caridorf." See Wemyss: "Twenty-six Years of the Life of 
an Actor." 

3 Conrad was a Philadelphia lawyer. James E. Murdoch 
presented his "Conrad of Naples" (1832). "Jack Cade" was first 
given by Addams as "Aylmere." Conrad accepted many poUtical 
offices. 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRAMA 67 

berous hosts of mankind to redeem themselves with their 
own right hands." 

The only connection Forrest had with WilHs was to horse- 
whip him in Washington Square, New York, for some 
scandal in the divorce suit then pending between the actor 
and his wife. Whatever claims Willis had dramatically 
were furthered by Wallack. But there is no doubt that 
among the closet-dramatists, Willis piay be taken as a not- 
able example, criticised in a contemporary fashion by Poe. 
Most literary men of the period essayed drama: Charles 
Brockden Brown (1771-1810)1 with "Alcuin'^ (1797); 
John Neal (1793-1876) with "Otho" (1819); George P. 
Morris (1802-1864) with "The Maid of Saxony '^ (1842); 
Thomas H. Chivers (1807-1858) with "The Sons of Usna" 
(1858); W. W. Story (1819-1895) with "Nero" (1875) and 
with "Stephania" (1875).2 

George Henry Boker (1823-1890) was the most important 
of the Philadelphia group, a man of leisure, a scholar, and 
one whose culture was more exact and polished than his 
passion was sincere. Hans Breitman (C. G. Leland) speaks 
of Boker's boyhood, when he manifested such remarkable 
poetic talents that Forrest, in a broad flood of enthusiasm, 
characterized him as the best reader in America. At Prince- 
ton, Boker gratified every artistic taste, and gathered in 
his room those students whose interests were distinctly 
literary. 

He then studied law, and traveled abroad until 1847. 
As early as this, Bayard Taylor recognized in him a close 
and sympathetic friend. In the following years, Boker 
wrote assiduously, and his devotion to the Union cause 
during the Civil War is seen in the numberless "Poems of 
the War" which came from his pen. In 1871, Boker began 

1 A two-volume Life of Brown was written by William Dunlap. 

2 See Wegelin and Roden. 



68 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

his diplomatic service, being sent by President Grant to 
Constantinople. He was transferred in 1875 to St. Peters- 
burg, where he gained much popularity during a two years* 
service. 

All this time, his poetic talents were variously directed 
toward the stage. He was the author of "Calaynos," a 
tragedy given at Sadler's Wells Theatre, London, the year 
after its publication in 1848. " Francesca da Rimini " (1853) ^ 
is his most famous piece, and is most deserving of considera- 
tion in a theatrical sense. Boker's art temperament is well 
measured in the following from the pen of Richard Henry 
Stoddard : 

"There was no such word as fail in his bright lexicon, 
wherein failure was hammered into success. I was not sur- 
prised to learn therefore [March, 1853] . . . that he had a 
new tragedy on the anvil. * You will laugh at this,' he wrote, 
'but the thing is so; "Francesca^ da Rimini" is the title. 
Of course you know the story — every one does; but you, 
nor any one else, do not know it as I have treated it. I have 
great faith in the successful issue of this new attempt. I 
think all day, and write all night. This is one of my pecu- 
liarities, by the bye: a subject seizes me, soul and body, 
which accounts for the rapidity of my execution. My muse 
resembles a whirlwind : she catches me up, hurries me along, 
and drops me all breathless at the end of her career.' The 
great heat at which 'Lear' and 'Julius Csesar' were prob- 
ably written, at which we know 'The Prisoner of Chillon' 
was written, at which 'A Blot in the 'Scutcheon' is said to 
have been written, were inherent in the dramatic genius of 

* He also wrote "AnneBoleyn," "Leonorde Guzman," "The Be- 
trothal/' and "The Widow's Marriage." He was one of the founders 
of the Union League Club, in Philadelphia. For biographical data, 
etc., see Critic, Jan. 11, 1890; Critic, April 12, 1890; Critic, April 
14, 1888 (G. P. Lathrop); Lippincott, June, 1890 (R. H. Stoddard); 
Atlantic, March, 1890 (Contributor's Club). 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRAMA 69 

Boker, from whom, at the end of nineteen days, I received 
another letter, which I found very interesting: 'Now that 
"Francesca da Rimini" is done, all but the polishing, I 
have time to look around and see how I have been neglect- 
ing my friends during my state of possession. Of course 
you wish to know my opinion of the bantling: I shall sup- 
pose you do, at all events. Well, then, I am better satisfied 
with "Francesca da Rimini" than with any of my previous 
plays. It is impossible for me to say what you, or the world, 
will say of it; but if it do not please you both, I do not know 
what I am about. The play is more dramatic than former 
ones, fiercer in its displays of intense passions, and, so far 
as mere poetry goes, not inferior, if not superior, to any 
of them. In this play I have dared more, risked more, 
than I ever had courage to do before. Ergo, if it be not a 
great triumph, it will certainly be a great failure. I doubt 
whether you in a hundred guesses could hit upon the man- 
ner in which I have treated the story. I shall not attempt to 
prejudice you regarding the play; I would rather have you 
judge for yourself, even if your decision be adverse. Am 
I not the devil and all for rapid composition? My speed 
frightens me, and makes me fearful of the merits of my 
work. Yet on coolly going over my work, I find little to 
object to, either as to the main design or its details ; I touch 
up, here and there, but I do little more. The reason for 
my rapid writing is that I never attempt putting pen to 
paper before my design is perfectly matured. I never start 
with one idea, trusting to the glow of poetical composition 
for the remainder. That will do in lyrical poetry, but it would 
be death and damnation to dramatic. But just think of 
it! — Twenty-eight hundred lines in about three weeks! 
To look back upon such labor is appalling! Let me give 
you the whole history of my manner of composition in a 
few words. If it be not interesting to you, you differ from 



70 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

me, and I mistake the kind of matters that interest you. 
While I am writing, I eat little, I drink nothing, I meditate 
my work, literally, all day. By the time night arrives, I 
am in a highly nervous and excited state. About nine 
o'clock, I begin writing and smoking, and I continue the 
two exercises, pari passu, until about four o'clock in the 
morning. Then I reel to bed, half-crazy with cigar-smoke 
and poesy, sleep five hours, and begin the next day as the 
former. Ordinarily, I sleep from seven to eight hours, but 
when I am writing, but five, — simply because I cannot 
sleep any longer at such times. The consequence of this 
mode of life is, that at the end of a long work I sink at once 
like a spent horse, and have not energy enough to perform 
the ordinary duties of life. I feci my health giving way 
under it, but really I do not care. I am ambitious to be 
numbered among the martyrs.'" 

Loyal as Stoddard was to his friend, we find him writing 
in this critical vein: 

"The conception of his tragedies and comedies, their 
development, their movement, and their catastrophes, 
are dramatic. Poetical, they are not overweighted with 
poetry; emotional and passionate, their language is natu- 
rally figurative, and the blank verse rises and falls as the 
occasion demands. One feels in reading them that the 
writer had studied the Elizabethan and Jacobean dramatists, 
and that they harmed as well as helped him. If he could 
have forgotten them and remembered only his own genius, 
his work would have been more original. A born dramatist, 
he was a genuine balladist, as I could prove by comparing 
his ballads with those of Macaulay; and a born sonneteer, 
as I could prove by comparing his sonnets with those of 
Sidney, Spenser, Daniel, and Shakespeare." ^ 

1 "Francesca da Rimini" was first produced at the old Broadway 
Theatre in 1855, with E. L. Davenport and Mrae. Ponigi; revived 



OUR LITERARY AND CLOSET-DRAMA 71 

Boker's "Francesca da Rimini" is a peculiarly contra- 
dictory piece of work, since, from the standpoint of the 
stage, it is essentially and effectively dramatic, while as 
literature, it is mediocre and badly imitative of the Eliza- 
bethan style. So imbued was Boker with the method of his 
models, that he often paralleled Shakespeare, his poetic 
imagery being imitative, and his phraseology disappointingly 
colloquial. Yet over and above the mere story, Boker has 
succeeded in depicting distinct character, especially in his 
dwarf, Pejpe. The historical setting is slight, yet sufficient 
to localize the piece, and the dramatis personce are faithful 
in outline, though oftentimes devoid of consuming passion. 

Should you take the different versions of the Francesca 
legend, based on Dante's episodical mention of it in "The 
Divine Comedy," it would be found that Phillips, as a 
dramatist, has the fault of being diffuse, while Boker is 
prosaic and plain. Were it not for over-elaboration, D'An- 
nunzio's play miglit have supplanted all others on the same 
subject, because of its Italian spirit. Could we draw from 
Phillips his simple lyricism, from D'Annunzio his intensity, 
from Boker his proportion, and from Marion Crawford his 
realization of the true situation, toned away from melo- 
drama, then the ideal play might be constructed. But Boker 
is thoroughly actable, and is not unworthy of revival. 

The attitude tow^ard the closet-drama is purely one of 
culture. A pseudo-interest in the grandiloquent style has 
resulted in that separation of literature from the dramatic 
form, and as soon as one realizes that literature is inherent 
in the substance and in the structure, so soon will ornamen- 

by Lawrence Barrett and Marie Wainwright, at McVickar's Theatre, 
Chicago, Nov. 6, 1882, and by Otis Skinner, William Norris, and 
Marcia Van Dresser, at the Grand Opera House, Chicago, August 
22, 1901. After the success of the piece in 1882, Boker wrote to 
Barrett: "Why did n't I receive this encouragement twenty years 



72 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

tation cease to be strung in useless festoons upon the neces- 
sary dialogue. For in all plays there is essential talk even 
as there are Sarcey's scenes a faire. It is a false idea of 
culture that created a false idea of closet-drama. For though 
the theatre is based on imitation, it cannot abide a mis- 
use of its essential structure in order to be called literature. 
More than any other critic, Professor Brander Matthews has 
persisted, in his writings, that the drama must comply with 
the practical demands of the playhouse in order to be drama. 
Pointing to the body of dramaturgy which has come down 
to us, he has been firm in his claim that " only literature is 
permanent." And so, we arrive at the same conclusion which 
shall come to us in a consideration of the poetic drama. 
We will accept drama in any form, just so it be drama first 
of all. 

The very rapid historical sketch contained in Chapters III and 
IV must needs take into consideration the extensive additions to 
our knowledge of the history of early American drama since 1910. 
Texts are now made available which, heretofore, were considered 
rare. The present author has issued three volumes of "Repre- 
sentative American Dramas" which, in the early periods, include 
Thomas Godfrey's "The Prince of Parthia" (1765), Robert Rogers' 
"Ponteach; or, The Savages of America" (1766), Mercy Warren's 
"The Group" (1775), Hugh Henry Brackenridge's "The Battle of 
Bunker's-Hill (1776), John Leacock's "The Fall of British Tyranny" 
(1776), Samuel Low's "The Pohtician Outwitted" (1789), Royal! 
Tyler's "The Contrast" (1790), Dunlap's "Andr6" (1799), J. N. 
Barker's "Indian Princess" (1808), and M. M. Noah's "She Would 
Be a Soldier" (1819). 

In addition to this, many plays of the intermediate period are 
included in the second volume, Payne's "Brutus," Boker's "Fran- 
cesca da Rimini," Conrad's "Jack Cade," Willis's "Tortesa," being 
representative of the type. 

In editing the plays included in his three-volume edition of 
"Representative American Dramas," the present author has 
given a running commentary on particular periods of American 
drama, in the introductions accompanying each play. This, in a 
way, supplements and makes more thorough the study suggested in 
the preceding chapters. Bibliographies of individual dramatists 
are included. 



CHAPTER V 

BRONSON HOWARD: DEAN OF THE AMERICAN 
DRAMA 

As Dean of the American Drama, Bronson Howard occupies 
a most significant position. The theatre is a very sensitive 
barometer, registering current ideas and local manners, and 
if one should range Mrs. Mowatfs "Fashion" (1847), Mrs. 
Bateman's "Self" (1856), and Mr. Howard's "Saratoga" 
(1870) side by side, the timely differences would be very 
strikingly felt. The point of view held by Mr. Howard 
just before his death had a broad sweep toward the future 
and a very vital sweep along the past. For, in respect to 
the latter position, he was able to estimate the value of that 
dramatic soil and of those dramatic traditions from which 
he sprung; he was so situated that he could step aside from 
the main current, and note wherein the later drama had 
profited by its inheritance. 

It is unfortunate that in the years to come, the estimate 
of Mr. Howard, based upon his numerous popular successes, 
will not be a very high one, even though "The Banker's 
Daughter" and "Aristocracy" are marked with a certain 
literary quality. This stricture is partly due to the fact that 
he wrote at a time when our American stage was flooded 
with French imitations or importations; when, as Mr. 
Howard himself declared, adaptations for the English speak- 
ing stage not only meant a change to English life and English 
characters, but meant also that in the transference, these 



74 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

characters continued "to express foreign ideas and to act 
like foreigners." 

But Mr. Howard's right to the title of Dean of the Ameri- 
can Drama can never be disputed, for, whatever is done in 
the future to enrich our native dramaturgic literature, it 
will have been through the efforts of Mr. Howard that the 
first impetus toward that efflorescence was given. In the 
early seventies he stood single-handed, with the Anglicism 
and classicism of Daly, Palmer, and Wallack as his chiefest 
opposition, and he forced the public gaze upon current thought 
and manners. So as to accomplish this object, he was obliged 
to have recourse to conventions more French than they were 
American. V/hat is of most importance is that Mr. Howard 
by his plays established the fact of the American drama's 
existence — plays in a way far more native than those 
romantic pieces by George Boker and the Philadelphia 
group. It is an unfortunate possibility, hov/ever, that unless 
our dramatic literature emphasizes the essential elements 
from which our national drama has come, Mr. Howard in 
the future will be little more than a name to theatre-goers, 
outside of the profession. For his plays are hardly literary in 
the sense that they possess reading style or grace. That is 
to be deplored, inasmuch as Mr. Howard, intellectually, 
was of a high type of mind, while as Dean he always sup- 
ported that which aimed to be the best. 

It were futile indeed to regard Mr. Howard as a producing 
playwright from any other angle of vision than that of his 
day. His technique, his observation, his locale^ are of a gener- 
ation that is gone; and though the humanity of his charac- 
ters still retain acting possibilities, the American drama of 
to-day is subject to far different influences. We are now 
passing through the fires of scientific query and realistic 
handling of the sex question. Dion Boucicault, as recent 
as 1890, only vaguely felt that there was something in Ibsen 



BRONSON HOWARD 75 

which demanded what he called serious regard. Long before 
this storm and stress period in stage history, Mr. Howard's 
method was so far crystallized as to remain unaffected by 
later technique. And toward the latter part of his life, it 
was curious to behold in him a man intellectually so far in 
advance of his method of writing. For, despite Ibsen and 
Zola and Tolstoi; despite Ho wells and James and Meredith; 
despite Pinero and Jones and Shaw, Mr. Howard's last 
comedy, " Kate," is untouched by current influences, however 
much it strove to be modern. In this play his ideas of 
life deepened, his technical grasp became firmer, his insight 
keener, but his discussions were all clad in form typical of 
"The Banker's Daughter," "One of Our Gh-ls," and "The 
Henrietta." 

Before 1870, the American Drama was very broadly and 
very crudely manipulated in two directions: American 
history and the American type were chiefly to be reckoned 
with. We find long lists of Indian plays, of Revolutionary 
dramas, of spectaculars unfolding the marvels of coloni- 
zation and the successes of 1812. These early pieces are 
all forgotten, save one perhaps — the "Metamora" of 
Judge Stone, so closely identified with the personality of 
Edwin Forrest. The Indian plays, as a genre, before 1846, 
were not, however, any more common than the American 
types which dominated the boards in such mushroom thick- 
ness that the elder Hackett followed one play of the kind 
with another; and his rival actor. Hill, became popularly 
known as "Yankee " Hill. 

It is customary for the dramatic historian of to-day to 
discount the influence of the character type on the American 
stage — a type which disappeared usually with the pass- 
ing of the actor who created it. But the value of W. J. 
Florence's Bardwell Slote, of John T. Raymond's Mulberry 
Sellers, of Murdoch's and Mayo's Davy Crockett, of Chan- 



76 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

frau's Mose, and of Jefferson's Asa Trenchard, lay in the fact 
that they helped to create in the minds of theatre-goers a 
behef in national distinctions; they helped to preserve 
American characteristics on the stage, however cartoon the 
pictures might have been. All drama must thus work itself 
out from extravagance to refinement. 

When Mr. Howard began to write for the theatre, the 
influence of Scribe, and his manner of unfolding plot and 
counterplot, had not yet been succeeded by a more natural 
method of development. Dumas, fils, with " Camille," had 
injected into the romantic play of intrigue and infidelity, a 
species of emotional analysis which was somehow mistaken 
for an ethical purpose. Furthermore, Robertson and Taylor, 
borrowing freely from the elder Dumas and Hugo on one 
hand, and from the comedy of incident and manner on the 
other, simply Anglicized the French form of drama for the 
English stage. Mr. Howard found such to be the conditions 
when he began his struggles. 

He found that English managers realized it was less ex- 
pensive, and involved less risk, to employ Boucicault,^ for 
example, to translate French plays, to adapt them, as they 
phrased it, than to experiment with a new play that had 
never been tried upon the public He found that in America 
the situation was very much the same. Popular opinion 
was led to value an importation, and to discount any serious 
treatment of American character or of American life. He 
found, finally, that there was only half-hearted interest in 
the American drama on the part of two of the leading managers 
of that era, however much they might write encouragingly 
of the subject in current reviews or in their reminiscences. 
Lester Wallack in no way encouraged native talent, even 
though his excellence as a stage manager helped to give the 

1 See my "Famous Actor-Families in America" for a chapter on 
"The Boucicaults." 



BRONSON HOWARD 77 

theatre an abundant amount of English comedy and tragedy; 
even though he was author of a local play called "Central 
Park." ^ The same may well be claimed of Augustin Daly, 
who nevertheless aimed to be American in "Under the Gas- 
light." But his was likewise a foreign ambition, for he 
mounted adaptations of French and German farces whenever 
he wished to depart from the Shakespearean or classical 
comedy repertoire of his New York theatres; he catered dis- 
tinctively to culture, and how well he succeeded is measured 
by the atmosphere which for so long a while after his death 
clung to his Broadway playhouse at Thirtieth Street. 

Of the three prominent managers, A. M. Palmer may be 
said to have done the most to have encouraged native dra- 
matic ability. He and Mr. Daly were both involved in the 
development of Bronson Howard. 

Such is the setting to aid us in claiming for this writer the 
full appropriateness of the title: Dean of the American 
Drama. Mr. Howard was born at Detroit in 1842, during 
a time when that city was considered the extreme West. 
To undertake a journey there from the East was a notable 
accomplishment, and in one of James Fenimore Cooper's 
numerous autobiographical references, we find him boast- 
ing of the feat. In the "Leatherstocking" series, moreover, 
one of the characters was based on Mr. Howard's father — 
a man of adventurous nature, of firm disposition and deter- 
mination — a man, in fine, of the pioneer type. The intense 
American strain in this family reaches back as far as 1759, 
when one of the Howards came over from England with 
Wolfe's army, and, strange to say, almost immediately began 
to realize that the colonies were right in their attitude toward 
the mother-country. This sympathy increased to such an 
extent that Howard enlisted with the "rebel" forces during 

* See my "Famous Actor-Families in America" for a chapter on 
"The Wallacks." 



78 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the Revolution — an act that resulted in his death on the 
field at Monmouth, New Jersey. 

Mr. Howard's grandfather was quick to catch the West- 
ward spirit, though loath to break from the East. He was a 
roving farmer who moved from Howard's Settlement on 
Lake Ontario, thence to a point in New York State, near 
the St. Lawrence River, and he instilled into his own son that 
same instinct to migrate which had prompted the Revolu- 
tionary sire to roam from place to place. 

Mr. Howard's father was a commission merchant in De- 
troit at the time of his son's birth. He had been a captain 
of a schooner in the days when sea-faring encouraged muti- 
nous crews — composed mostly of a cursing, grog-beset, brutal 
type of sailor. But Howard, Sr., was of a different calibre 
from most sea commanders. He banished the freedom of 
oaths from the deck; he cleared the lockers and holds of all 
grog; he insisted upon discipline which his friends told him 
could never be maintained where grog was denied. His 
actions as commander hastened the establishment of liquor 
regulations in the maritime service, and abolished from 
its prominent position on deck the water-cooler which had 
up to this time been filled with grog for anyone who cared 
to turn the faucet. His immediate reward was that he ob- 
tained differential rates of insurance which other seamen 
coveted, but were denied. Bronson Howard was proud of 
this bit of family history. 

Without giving up entire interest in the ship business, 
Howard, Sr., joined the firm of Alvin Bronson and Company, 
Bronson, after whom the young man was named, being at one 
time State Senator at Albany from Oswego County. In 
some of the early playbills we find the full name of the dram- 
atist recorded as Bronson Crocker Howard, Mr. Crocker 
being another partner of the firm. Many of his journalistic 
friends used to address him as B. C. Howard, though ho 



BRONSON HOWARD 79 

preferred the shorter form as more distinctive and individual- 
istic. 

From 1842 to 1858, therefore, young Howard remained 
in Detroit, long enough to secure the rudiments of an edu- 
cation, to see his father Mayor of the city (1849), and to 
develop what his father bequeathed him — an inventive 
taste which expanded later and aided him, when ingenuity 
was required of him behind the scenes at the theatre. 

Howard, Sr., was accustomed to whittle rough vessels 
from blocks of wood; this we may consider as symbol of the 
mechanical side of dramatic construction. In fact, before 
the Prismatic Club of Detroit, Mr. Howard once claimed 
that the mechanical engineer and the dramatist required 
essentially the same technical training. He afterwards, 
before the students of Harvard University, reasserted this, in 
connection with his play, "The Banker's Daughter." 

Young Howard was now sent East to prepare for Yale, — 
the class of 1865; but though General Russell's preparatory 
school did its work successfully, nature went against the 
scheme, and Howard's eyes failed him in 1860. Later, he was 
granted the privilege of attending a few lectures with his 
class, but he was never able to matriculate. 

During this time, the written drama as a profession was 
farthest from his thoughts. He had manufactured a few 
skits for his school, and had become unswerving in his deter- 
mination not to enter a trade. In fact, stimulated by the 
books and by the lecturing of Bayard Taylor, Howard was 
bent on becoming a writer. With this phase we must now 
deal, for it will indicate how subtly and how surely natural 
inclination asserts itself. Unknowingly, we are led whither 
our tastes prompt us, and Howard's first literary effort, based 
upon a purely literary enthusiasm for the then recently 
pul)!ished American translation of " Les Miserables," proved 
to be a play. 



80 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

With all the confidence of youth, he persuaded a manager 
to let him attempt a drama called "Fan tine," based on 
some of the Hugo incidents. It was played by a local 
stock company, managed according to the custom of the 
day. The "star" was the only one to travel, going from 
one city to another, in each of which a stock company was 
ready to support him. When written, this crude first at- 
tempt was found to be unfit for the practical side of the 
theatre; with all the inexperience of the inexperienced 
amateur, Howard had expanded the first act until it was 
sufficiently long to be a play in itself. But, undaunted, he 
set about pruning and cutting. What man can ever expect 
to become a playwright without that energetic willingness to 
slave, labor, and hope? Mr. Howard always possessed to a 
large degree the unfailing optimism of the true craftsman, 
and he once said, after he had gone through thirty-eight 
years of theatre service : " I never can understand the doubts 
as to whether one can do a play, if he really has it in him; he 
just goes and does it without questioning." This determin- 
ation which Mr. Howard always preached was an inspiration 
to his younger associates, and to many of them he used to 
say, "When you find yourself standing in the way of dra- 
matic truth, clear the track!" 

An interesting state of affairs existed in those days, ex- 
cellently illustrated by the fate of "Fantine." This play 
was never published; in fact, for a long while Mr. Howard 
considered the manuscript as lost. The only trace of it to 
be had was a "skeleton" copy which it was customary to 
give to the prompter: that is, the play with all the leading 
parts omitted, and only the cues as a guide. This "skeleton" 
precaution was necessary because of the copyright weak- 
ness which allowed all kinds of piracy to be committed in 
the profession. There were slight means of protecting the 
author's property in those days, a fact which added to Mr. 



BRONSON HOWARD 81 

Howard's interest in the dramatic copyright debates. Under 
such conditions, it would never do to allow the prompter 
to have in his possession the entire manuscript. The " skele- 
ton" was of small value to Mr. Howard; but fortunately, 
the " leads " being extant, they turned up unexpectedly some 
years after, and were dropped into the setting like missing 
stones in a mosaic. 

The eventful year of 1864, therefore, found Bronson 
Howard making a start as playwright. Another interest 
was drawing him to the stage, for he was serving a Detroit 
paper as dramatic critic and besides, was reading plays for 
his own amusement, familiarizing himself with the historical 
development of playwriting, which is a necessary acquisition 
for dignified theatre work. 

These were war times, but young Howard does not seem 
to have been drawn into the vortex, until it was rumored 
that an invasion of the Union was to be attempted by the 
English from Canada. For several nights, in consequence, 
Howard tramped the shores of the Lake, waiting in the dark- 
ness for momentary attack, and experiencing all the excite- 
ment that comes before a battle. There was no invasion, 
so he left Detroit in 1865, and landed in the Tribune office. 
New York, where he was detailed as reporter to write up 
the novel opening of the season at Coney Island. From 
1867, intermittently until 1872, Howard attended isolated 
lectures, but most of his energies were expended on journal- 
ism, in a day when newspapers were being quickly founded, 
and were as rapidly changing hands. 

In the usual journalistic career, which, as we have said, 
is so characteristic of many of our native playwrights, Mr. 
Howard's history is exceptional. For he was trained in a 
newspaper school that produced Whitelaw Reid, and from 
1868 to 1872 he was filling varied positions on many editorial 
staffs. He received his first honorarium as dramatic critic. 



82 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

under Charles H. Sweetzer, who founded The Round Table, 
a precursor of The Nation, and was next sent to report the 
Yale commencement and the Yale-Harvard boat race, for 
the Evening Gazette. It was while on the latter paper that 
one of his associate reporters was assigned a notable task — 
to follow up and describe how the first bag of mail was brought 
to New York from Philadelphia, an incident which was the 
beginning of the post-ofiice system on its present gigantic 
scale. 

Howard then followed Sweetzer to his new paper, The 
Mail, assuming the nominal ofiice of first president of the 
Mail Association. But the paper was sold in 1870, and John 
Russell Young then employed Howard on the Tribune, 
making him exchange editor. Toward the latter part of 
1871, he went over to the Post, continuing his journalistic 
career, despite his intervening dramatic ventures, through 
1876, during which year he wrote Centennial articles for the 
London Pall Mall Magazine, and for the Detroit Free Press. 
Before this, however, his determination had been firmly 
settled to devote all of his energies to the drama. It was 
probably about this time that his intimacy with Mr. (now 
Sir) Charles Wyndham began. The latter's first managerial 
venture occurred in "Hurricanes," which, written by Mr. 
Howard, was renamed "Truth" in James Albery's adaptation 
for England. In 1880, Miss^ Wyndham became Mrs. Bronson 
Howard. 

Despite the lethargic state in which Mr. Howard found 
the American dramatist, and despite the absolute inertia of 
the American drama itself, he entered the contest with great 
energy. So thoroughly were foreign models dominant on the 
boards that he later confessed how one of his earliest manu- 
scripts contained speeches in which Newport people went 
about exclaiming " Egad ! " in real eighteenth century style. 
Mr. Howard was always fully aware of the historical changes 





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BRONSON HOWARD 83 

in drama, the shifting of social attitudes, of moral conven- 
tionalities. Every dramatist, unless he be distinctly a re- 
former, is loath to overstep such conventionalities. Mrs. 
Inchbald, in one of her dramatic prefaces, refers to play- 
wrights of her day as being far behind the period in method 
and in subject matter; yet at the same time she was astounded 
to find Mrs. Centilever utilizing the clergy in one of her plays! 
It took years for the stage minister to make his appearance 
in society drama. 

Mr. Howard once said that in Rachel Crothers' " The Three 
of Us," such a heroine as is there portrayed — one who enters 
a man's room at midnight, to outface his threats and to 
outwit his claim that he will compromise her — was thirty 
or forty years in coming. Augustus Thomas has announced 
that he held "The Witching Hour" in his desk for several 
seasons, waiting the psychological moment when public 
sentiment would be alive to the truth of hypnotism. Ibsen 
trained us all to an acceptance of heredity as a stage subject, 
and he confessed in his correspondence that he was willing 
and anxious to shock average conservatism, without waiting 
for the opportune time to do things. He was always in ad- 
vance of his public; hence his isolation and loneliness; hence 
the storms of protest raised against him. This only indi- 
cates the sensitiveness to dramatic change. 

Mr. Howard accepted theatrical convention as it existed 
in 1870; his one and only fight was for the recognition of the 
American dramatist. Just before Robertson held sway in 
the early sixties on the English stage, the old style drama was 
in the ascendancy; nineteenth century people were viewing 
and were accepting manners of another era. But Robert- 
son gave a twist to such a state of affairs; the theatre pendu- 
lum swung back to its normal balance, and though he did 
not entirely free himself of the foreign yoke and of the 
earlier romantic influence, Robertson at least focussed the 



84 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

glass upon contemporary condition. This accounts for 
such a play as "Caste"; it explains many touches in the 
dramas by Bronson Howard. 

From "Saratoga" (1870) to "Kate" (1906), Mr. Howard 
dealt with American character, largely in the midst of foreign 
atmosphere. The advance from the same "Saratoga" to 
his "Aristocracy" (1892), was only an advance in neatness 
and closeness of dialogue. That feminine brightness which 
drew down upon him the wrath of contemporary critics, 
was admirably adapted, as it was in the case of Clyde Fitch, 
to the French treatment. But the Anglo-French back- 
ground detracts from the sincerity of American drama. Yet, 
should one look closer, and not judge by externals entirely, 
it will be seen, in the case of Mr. Howard, that in spite of the 
prejudice against American dramatists and American themes, 
in spite of the exoteric character of his technique, of his con- 
struction, he anticipated many of our present-day dramatic 
workers in the selection of his themes. 

"The Young Mrs. Winthrop" (1882), however stereotyped 
in its adherence to the " aside," is a domestic play of strong 
import, by the side of which Alfred Sutro's "The Walls of 
Jericho" is no more powerful arraignment of society forces 
drawing husband and wife apart. "Moorcroft," though it 
failed, exhibited Mr. Howard as aware of the value of time- 
liness in theatre work. He had witnessed the instantaneous 
effect of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and had noticed the melo- 
dramatic success of Boucicault's "The Octoroon." It is 
natural, therefore, that this "Moorcroft," based on a story 
by John Hay, should have dealt with the slave trade in 
similar melodramatic manner. 

"Baron Rudolph" (1881) foreshadowed by many years 
the stage treatment of the struggle between capital and labor, 
so crudely handled by Charles Klein in "The Daughters of 
Men." Then there was "The Henrietta" (1887), to my 



BRONSON HOWARD 85 

mind one of Mr. Ploward's most characteristically American 
plays, — barring a few out-of-date touches, — which might 
very well be classed with " The Lion and the Mouse," Frank 
Norris's "The Pit'' (dramatized by Channing Pollock), and 
"Business is Business" ("Les Affaires sont les Affaires") in 
which Crane acted. In claiming this distinction of previous- 
ness for Mr. Howard, it must always be borne in mind that his 
was pioneer treatment, which won its way in the face of man- 
agerial prejudice and productive barrenness. " Shenandoah " 
later became the forerunner of such a superior drama as 
WilKam Gillette's "Secret Service." 

Mr. Howard's progress toward the recognized position of 
dean of his profession was by no means a rapid or an easy 
one. I have before me accusations of diverse kinds regis- 
tered against the dramatist, for there were many critics 
who could not see originality in any of his work. In 1874, 
when "Saratoga" (Anglicized "Brighton" by Frank Mar- 
shall) was presented in London, the Times loudly pro- 
claimed that the play was simply a recast of Scribe's "Les 
Eaux." Mr. Howard protested vigorously in the newspaper 
columns, yet he v/as dignifiedly silent when critics pointed 
to his "Diamonds" (1872), and discovered in it distinct re- 
flections of "Still Waters Run Deep"; or claimed that the 
charming sentiment in "Old Love Letters" was akin in 
form and feeling to Gilbert's "Sweethearts." 

Despite the fact, for example, that a certain special re- 
viewer was proverbially harsh in his judgments of Mr. 
Howard, hinting that "One of Our Girls" (1885) leaned upon 
"A Scrap of Paper" in its third act, and upon "The School 
for Scandal" in its fourth act, should one follow those re- 
views, there would be detected that with the appearance of 
each new play by Mr. Howard, increasing credit and respect 
were bestowed upon him. This was largely due to the matur- 
ity of the dramatist's touch — to the surety of his technique. 



86 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

To his feminine interest, Mr. Howard added a repartee 
which came from close observation of small detail. At 
first, in such pieces as " Saratoga," and later, in " One of Our 
Girls," the style bordered on the frivolous. It seemed 
that there was but one way for him to picture the American 
girl: by making her, amidst the conservatism of English 
convention, a bold, frank, "natural" type, surprising every- 
one with her freedom, her boisterousness. There was little 
of the intensive life to be detected in her struggles, in her 
marital misunderstandings, unless we except "The Young 
Mrs. Winthrop." 

The formula of imported drama was used by Mr. Howard; 
in order to win his battle, he was obliged to compromise 
somewhere. The formula prescribed duels and French in- 
discretions; it necessitated the American characters being 
lavish with money. A certain grace was bestowed upon the 
feminine type, but otherwise the manner of depiction was 
the same as that used by Taylor in his character portrayal 
of Asa Trenchard. 

The social amenities, the comedies and tragedies of smart 
set life, are to-day very much as they were yesterday. We 
find as many of the nouveau riche, anxious to pepper conversa- 
tion with French phrases, as many of the so-called aristocracy 
boasting of association with titled folk; and there are still 
to be seen the destitute foreign noblemen — mere fortune- 
hunters such as Mr. Howard introduced into "Aristocracy" 
and " Kate." Snobbery has lost none of its rampant coarse- 
ness. Yet we have outgrown this cartoon, this farce element, 
in depicting American condition on the stage; we seek for 
less of the incongruous. 

Wall Street is just as potent a factor in the shattering of 
homes as it was when "The Henrietta" was first produced; 
but the framework of social drama, of the problem play, is 
now more solid, and less prone to be shaped by the caprice 



BRONSON HOWARD 87 

of external incident. Mr. Howard, despite the transitory 
chat of his dialogue, impresses one with the feeling that be- 
neath the surface incident there lay a very distinct idea — a 
much more substantial view of life than his execution would 
lead us to believe. His criticism of American condition was 
always thorough and just, and his culture sense was so keen 
that it is surprising to find how little his plays reflect the 
solid character of his intellect. His dramas were mostly 
received with enthusiasm, netting him a comfortable for- 
tune. Yet, regarding their permanence there is doubt, for 
the very reason that they are cast in a mould so easily dis- 
carded, a mould which held only the froth of manners. 

As a worker, Mr. Howard was always zealous and pains- 
taking. His manuscripts indicate that labor and sacrifice 
are the dramatist's watchwords. Let a doubt as to effect- 
iveness once possess him, and he went to any amount of 
trouble to overcome the scenic difficulty. The well-thumbed 
volumes on the Civil War in his library were evidence of his 
care in detail while planning "Shenandoah," the first draft 
of which was a network of emendations. 

He wrote and re-wrote a scene in "One of Our Girls" six 
times before he could prove to his own satisfaction that the 
original way was the only way for his particular purpose. 
The lecture he delivered at Harvard University, in 1886, 
applied the general laws of drama to certain alterations made 
in "The Banker's Daughter." His object was to show the 
student that whatever changes of primary importance were 
made by him, affected other details in preceding and succeed- 
ing situations. A drama is an organism, with relative spatial 
values fluctuating according to dynamic principles. Me- 
chanical effectiveness has its constructive equation, and char- 
acter must develop consistently along lines of evolution and 
of life. 

But Mr. Howard, while illustrating these laws by means 



88 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

of the changes in his piece, also too clearly revealed in that 
lecture a distinct danger underlying the stagecraft of his 
day — a danger bequeathed us by the French, and engrafted 
by Robertson and Taylor upon English drama and American 
drama as well — a danger counteracted by the Ibsen technique, 
with its vital ideas. The caprice of incident was more thought 
of than the humanity of individuals ; artifice therefore largely 
took the place of art. "One of the most important laws of 
dramatic constru-ction," said Mr. Howard before the Harvard 
audience, " might thus be formulated : If you want a particu- 
lar thing done, choose a character to do it that an audience 
will naturally expect to do it. In 'The Banker's Daughter' 
I wanted a man to fall in love with my heroine after she was 
a married woman, and, of course, I chose a French Count 
for the purpose. " 

We now ask again, in view of all this activity, by what 
right is Mr. Howard called Dean of the American Dramatists? 
He always had the interest of native playwrights at heart; 
he fought for them unceasingly, even as ardently as Mark 
Twain did for the author in the copyright agitations, making 
appeal for proper protection of plays as early as 1879; he 
founded for his craft a permanent organization, known as 
the Dramatist Club. But more than that, he established 
the fact of the American drama's existence, and stood ready 
to render encouragement to the younger generation. Unlike 
" The Master Builder," he hastened the newer school, always 
gracious and always helpful. 

We emphasize in our literary histories the importance of 
such writers as Bret Harte, who preserved a native flavor in 
the short story, dependent upon native life. The American 
idea in literature has largely been subservient to local interest 
and local need. Politically, socially, spiritually, and eco- 
nomically, locality has governed our literary expression, and 
has been externalized on the stage. Save in isolated ins tan- 



BRONSON HOWARD 89 

ces, idea in American literature has in no way equalled 
vividness of local condition. While Mr. Howard's local claim 
was harmed by his manner of construction, he nevertheless, 
like Robertson and Taylor, swung the pendulum across the 
dial of contemporary life, and reflected the conventional 
phases of contemporary society. He recognized that Boker 
in Philadelphia had done no ordinary work; that American 
drama, from the Revolution, was no insignificant quan- 
tity, however varying the quality. What was needed seemed 
to be confidence in native ability and in native discernment; 
what was needed proved to be a local dramatic market for 
modern wares. Mr. Howard was the founder of such a 
market. It was confidence on his part that cleared the way 
for the present. And by right of this struggle, dramatic 
history should stamp him, as others in his family have been 
stamped, as pioneer in his particular field. 

NOTE 

Mr. Howard died in 1908. His plays appeared in the following 

order, the star indicating that they have been published in French's 

"Standard Drama": 

"Fantine" (1864), "Saratoga" (1870), "Diamonds" (1872), "Moor- 
croft; or, The Double Wedding" (1874), "Hurricanes" (1878, 
— called "Truth" in England), "Old Love Letters" * (1878), 
"The Banker's Daughter" * (1878 — called in England "The 
Old Love and the New"; also known as "Lillian's Last 
Love'), "Baron Rudolph" (1881), "Young Mrs. Winthrop" * 
(1882), "One of Our Girls" * (1885), "Met by Chance" (1887), 
"The Henrietta"* (1887), "Shenandoah"* (1889), "Aristoc- 
racy" * (1892), "Kate" * (1906 — Harper & Bros.). 

In 1879, Mr. Howard also wrote "Wives," in which scenes from 
Moliere's "L'Ecole de Maris" and "L'Ecole des Femmes" 
were blended. He likewise wrote "Peter Stuyvesant " (1899), in 
conjunction with Professor Brander Matthews. In the casts 
presenting the comedies we note such names as Sara Jewett, 
W. J. LeMoyne, J. H. Stoddart, George Clarke, Henry Miller, 
Agnes Booth, E. H. Sothern, Viola Allen, and Wilton Lackaye. 
The early actors were the most important, and they included 
Fanny Davenport, Clara Morris, and their contemporaries. 



CHAPTER VI 

JAMES A. HERNE AND THE REALISTIC DRAMA 

It is rarely that the American people have touched the soil 
in literature, but when they have, the result has been of the 
most distinctive order. As a nation, we are too young to 
have realized any large and original problems in literature. 
Our authors have been more or less imitators of English 
models, and even to-day our stage is attempting to explain 
American conditions by means of a technique which is not a 
native technique. We have perhaps brought the short story 
to a stage of perfection which can only be equaled by a few 
of the French writers; but our poetry has been largely 
imitative, our essays reminiscent of the eighteenth century 
flavor in England, and our fiction by no means fraught with 
the full value of American life and American characteristics. 
The same may be said of American drama, although at the 
present time there is a decided tendency on the part of the 
popular dramatist to deal with subjects that are closely 
related to the lives of American audiences. The position 
which W. D. Ho wells occupies is assuredly one of the most 
original impulses evident in the recent history of American 
letters. He has been the means of educating the people 
away from the stereotyped formulas of romanticism; and 
while he has done much to create a realistic rut in fiction, he 
has nevertheless enforced the undoubted fact that there is 
as much richness, if not indeed more truth, in the common 
life of the land, as in the idealism which has no intimate 



JAMES A. HERNE 91 

relation with the fibre of the community. Unfortunately, 
we are prone, in our literary criticism, to overlook the work 
that is being done along the same lines in American drama. 
Take any handbook of literature, and note how absolutely 
the' activity of the American playwright is ignored. The 
literary critic has not yet awakened to the fact of the impor- 
tance of a body of native dramaturgy. Otherwise, did he 
know the history of playwriting, he would not show so thor- 
oughly his ignorance of one of the rare strains in American 
drama — as distinctive, as invigorating, and as important 
as that impulse given by Mr. Howells to American letters. 
I refer to the solid calibre of the dramas of James A. Heme. 

In his book on "Criticism and Fiction," Mr. Howells, 
speaking of the imitative instinct of the average American 
writer, says truthfully that in general "he is instructed to 
idealize his personages, that is, to take the lifelikeness out of 
them, and put the booklikeness into them." And he adds 
furthermore, as a hopeful sign, that "now we are beginning 
to see and to say that no author is an authority, except in 
those moments when he held his ear close to Nature's lips, 
and caught her very accents." Probably our universities 
are overdoing the desire to discount the originality of an 
author, in the zeal to submit his work to the test of those 
scientific principles underlying the theory of comparative 
literature. As far as the sane evaluation of realism is con- 
cerned, that author is real who faithfully interprets the en- 
vironment with which he is most familiar. And in this 
respect, no one can lay better claim to the highest realiza- 
tion of the term than Mr. Heme himself. 

Considered in the light of sound standards, he may be said 
to represent the most original strain that the American 
drama has produced. Let us grant that in his plots he in- 
vents conventional situations which are detrimental to the 
perfection of his stagecraft. Let us acknowledge that his 



92 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

comedy is ofttimes low comedy, although his humor is of the 
very kindliest and of the most human qualit}^ Let us fur- 
thermore realize fully that, having acted in the old school, 
having assumed characters of diverse range, Mr. Heme un- 
consciously resorted to an invention which was more imi- 
tative than original. Yet, notwithstanding this, he is en- 
titled to the very highest consideration, because of the fact 
that in the midst of romantic, melodramatic, and old-fashioned 
tragic conceptions, which found favor in the eyes of the 
American public, he put his ear close to the heart of the 
common life, and drew from the most ordinary experiences 
the poetry of a simple, fundamental existence. 

The surprising characteristic which strikes one after having 
read Mr. Heme's manuscripts, is the wonderful clarity of 
vision which, through the medium of the most matter-of- 
fact details, through the wonderful power of clear and direct 
expression, could raise the common level of daily existence 
to the realm of the most tragic drama on the one hand, and 
to the realm of the most genial, warm-hearted, and pure 
rural comedy on the other. This is not over-exaggeration 
or over-enthusiasm, because one cannot help realizing the 
faults in Mr. Heme's technique, through the very existence 
in the midst of those faults of the highest type of dramatic 
literature. 

His work, as a whole, is only another illustration of the 
undoubted fact that American life — the true American life 
— lies between great cities; that there is more of the native 
stamina in the small community than in the abnormal 
community, where a mixture of all nations constitutes the 
civic body. Mr. Howells has studied the humanity of this 
intermediate life, and his work is distinctively native; 
whereas that of Mrs. Edith Wharton is wholly imitative of 
the English school, as a certain class of life in America is 
imitative of English life. 




Photo, by J. A'. Stevens &■ Son Co. 



Jamp:s a. IIekjve 



JAMES A. HERNE 93 

When Mr. Heme's attention was drawn away from the 
melodrama with which he had met favor, he seemed to have 
been prompted by a kind of intuitive reaUzation of what the 
modern movement in Hterature was to be. Some would like 
to say that the influences which were brought to bear upon 
him at the time he wrote "Margaret Fleming" and "Griffith 
Davenport" were the foreign influences of such men as Tol- 
stoi and Ibsen; but the impetus given to Mr. Heme was more 
inward than external. He may be said to have been endowed 
with that luminosity of spiritual vision which saw the even- 
tual potency of the common life, and which kept him, even 
at an advanced age, thoroughly attuned to the progressive 
movements, making him an ardent reader of the philosophic 
thinkers, as well as a warm adherent of the economic theo- 
ries of Henry George. 

Mr. Heme was born on February 1, 1839, at Cohoes, New 
York, of Irish parentage, his father, Patrick Heme, being 
a tradesman of the town. Save for the fact that he received 
the bare rudiments of an education, Mr. Heme, intellectu- 
ally as well as materially, may be taken as a type of that 
self-made man which we Americans rightfully exalt. In his 
early years he had to earn his livelihood, and this he did in 
various subordinate positions; while, with the yearning of 
the average boy, his tastes were turned toward the sea. 
Though he did not, with the usual inclination of the average 
boy, slip off and ship upon a merchantman, he retained, until 
the day of his death, an insatiable love of the water. The 
rebellion against conditions, however, resulted in his running 
away at the age of twenty, and joining a theatrical company 
which was playing at the Adelphi Theatre in Troy. Here 
he appeared during April, 1859, in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." 
Upon the authority of Clapp, however, it is said that his 
first appearance was made in an amateur performance of 
"Toodles," which took place a short while previous to this 



94 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

at Schenectady. At the Adelphi he supported James B. 
Roberts, assuming such characters as Horatio, Cassia, and 
Bassanio. His uncle was the treasurer of the house. 

That Heme was equal to any emergency may be inferred 
from the fact that one evening, when Roberts appeared as 
Richard III, the young actor was ticketed for the three 
roles of Tressel, Oxford, and Buckingham. He was indefati- 
gable in his ambition, although at the time he must have 
been sorely pressed for the necessary income which would 
supply him with a theatrical wardrobe. For, during one 
summer, he returned to a brush factory in the neighborhood 
of Cohoes, working away to eke out his small salary, at the 
same time, with the artful enthusiasm of a young man, 
keeping his father in ignorance of his true profession. 

His next engagement was at the Gaiety Theatre in Albany; 
and from there he went to the Holliday Street Theatre in 
Baltimore, which was under the management of Ford. There 
he remained until 1864; and it should be recorded that he 
likewise played in Washington at the theatre in which Lin- 
coln was killed. In 1869, he was for a period manager of the 
New York Grand Opera House; and thereafter he toured 
with Susan Denning along the Pacific slope. Then followed 
several seasons as leading man with Lucille Western, during 
which engagement he assumed such parts as Bill Sykes and 
Sir Francis Levison, succeeding E. L. Davenport in the re- 
pertoire roles, Mr. Heme's first wife was Miss Helen Wes- 
tern, whom he married on July 17, 1866. 

When the actor jBnally went to Baldwin's Theatre, in San 
Francisco, it was under the management of Thomas Maguire. 
He served in the capacity of stage director, as well as assum- 
ing an infinite number of roles, among those to be remembered 
because of their human unctuousness being his Dickens 
characterizations of Daniel Peggotty and Captain Cuttle. It 
was while serving in this capacity that David Belasco, a 



JAMES A. HERNE 95 

much younger man than Mr. Heme, came under his influence 
and profited by his training. For though Mr. Belasco had 
much originality and enthusiasm, his work needed the guid- 
ance of such an experienced actor as Mr. Heme. And it 
may be said that this meeting with Belasco first suggested 
to the stage manager his own powers as a writer of 
plays. 

From now on, the career of James A. Heme may be con- 
sidered entirely from the standpoint of his literary develop- 
ment and of his personal expansion. For, peculiarly, events 
in his life are not so significant as the intimate association 
with a very few people, who might be said to have acted as 
much upon his artistic unfolding as any of the subtle forces 
which are supposed to mould the characters of men. The 
most important event in Mr. Heme's life, both intellectually 
and spiritually, was his second marriage with Miss Katherine 
Corcoran, on April 3, 1878. 

As a matter of mere romantic record, it is interesting to 
note that one evening, during Mr. Heme's engagement in 
San Francisco and before his second marriage, v/hile he was 
playing Bill Sykes, there was present in the gallery a very 
much excited and overwrought girl; this happened to be 
Katherine Corcoran. It is also interesting to read, that in 
November, 1877, Julia Melville, a dramatic reader, had a 
pupil of whom she was especially proud, and one whom she 
was anxious to have Mr. Heme see. So he slipped into the 
room one morning, to hear this young girl while she was at 
work; it was Katherine Corcoran. Mrs. Heme's father had 
fought on the Union side in the Civil War. While still in 
her teens, she went to California, where after studying, she 
gained experience in stock at a Portland theatre, thereafter 
joining James O'Neill and William Seymour at the Baldwin 
Theatre. One of her initial successes was as Peg Woffing- 
ton in "Masks and Faces/' 



96 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

There was not a move which Mr. Heme was to make in 
the future that did not bear the impress of her inspiration. 
She it was who started him definitely on his career as a dram- 
atist; she it was who encouraged him in those hours when, 
after having written "Margaret Fleming" and "The Rev. 
Griffith Davenport," he found himself shut off from all 
managerial hearing, because of the fact that he had deter- 
mined to cut aloof from melodrama and to seek for the truth 
in the commonplace. 

From his career thus hastily sketched, there are a few 
significant factors to be gleaned. While at the Baldwin 
Theatre, Mr. Heme came under the influence of the Bouci- 
cault drama and of that type of melodrama which was rep- 
resented by such a success as "The Danicheffs." So that 
it is not surprising to find "Hearts of Oak," "The Minute 
Men," and "Drifting Apart" tinged with those large emo- 
tions which might almost be said to lack subtlety. Even in 
"Shore Acres, " during the scene in which Uncle Nat struggles 
with Martin in his effort to light the signal lamp, the sen- 
sational is very much in evidence; but the unerring art of 
Mr. Heme saved him from the accusation of intense, glaring 
melodrama. He understood thoroughly the balance between 
tension and quietude, and there is no bit of stage writing 
more natural, more cheerful, and more real than the act 
which succeeded this violent one in "Shores Acres," Uncle 
Nat preparing the Christmas stockings. Those who are for- 
tunate enough to recollect the wonderful naturalness of Mr. 
Heme's acting, will always point to the final curtain of this 
play, where Uncle Nat, left alone on the stage, by the very 
flexibility of his facial expression, depicted the full beauty of 
his character, as he closed up the room for the night, put out 
the lamps, and, lighted only by the glow from the fire in the 
stove, slowly left the room as the cuckoo clock struck twelve. 
Such work, of which Mr. Heme as an actor was capable, is 



JAMES A. HERNE 97 

to a certain extent the realization of Maeterlinck's idea of 
the static drama. 

After seeing "Shore Acres '* in 1893, Henry George wrote: 

"I cannot too much congratulate you upon your success. 
You have done what you have sought to do — made a play 
pure and noble that people will come to hear. You have 
taken the strength of realism and added to it the strength 
that comes from the wider truth that realism fails to see; 
and in the simple portrayal of homely life, touched a univer- 
sal chord. . . . Who, save you, can bring out the character 
you have created — a character which to others, as to me, 
must have recalled the tender memory of some sweet saint 
of God." 

Having made a comfortable fortune with the success of 
"Hearts of Oak," Mr. Heme's progress, up to the time of 
"Shore Acres," was marked by persistent opposition and 
lack of financial success. This initial play of his, which, 
when first produced at the Baldwin Theatre on September 
9, 1879, was known as "Chums," was, in many of its de- 
tails, based on "The Mariner's Compass," by Henry Leslie. 
Its main plot was used again in "Sag Harbor;" and despite 
the fact that it contained many stereotyped romantic speeches, 
it is well at the outset to note that gift which Mr. Heme 
possessed — the gift of simplicity, which never deserted him, 
no matter how old-fashioned and unoriginal some of his 
scenes might be. There are countless plays and stories 
dealing with a marriage between a girl and her guardian, 
which at first is over-clouded by the fact that the girl loves 
another, but which finally ripens into a full happiness and a 
satisfactory ending. One cannot quite accept those heroes 
of fiction or drama, however mature and settled, who would 
give up their wives because of a conscience. 

But these incongruities were more than overbalanced by 
Mr. Heme's inimitable handling of the commonplace in 



98 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

life. He was able to breathe into his dialogue those small, 
playful expressions that lighten up the whole character. At 
one moment serious, he never allowed himself — except in 
the case of "Margaret Fleming" — to subject his audiences 
to unrelieved strain. The papers, in receiving his so-called 
domestic dramas, showed surprise over the effectiveness of 
the commonplace. They were not used to the little happen- 
ings of home life, to the glorification of those situations which 
abound in comradeship, and of those quiet scenes with a baby 
which are successful on the stage only when the actor pos- 
sesses that great art which alone knows how to deal with quiet 
detail. 

"Hearts of Oak" exhibited the influence of Dickens in 
its character portrayal. Judged by the standards that we 
now have in these times of ultra-realism, we might call the 
sentiment old-fashioned, we might even notice certain speeches 
which point a moral rather than adorn the tale. No one, 
however, could ever accuse Mr. Heme of being "preachy," 
— he had that exquisite sense of justice and of the fitness of 
things which, when the time came for him to write "The 
Rev. Griffith Davenport," showed itself to a high degree, 
inasmuch as, dealing with a circuit rider of the South and 
likewise with the problem of slavery, he could have fallen 
into the error of the average dramatist who, handling the 
same subject, has generally falsified the truth in attempting 
to thrust forward personal theories. "Drifting Apart" 
is regarded as one of the most powerful temperance sermons 
ever put on the stage, unless we except the successful melo- 
drama, "Drink." Yet there is little of distinction in the 
actual script of the piece, save the suggested possibilities in 
the acting that were so marked on its first presentation at the 
People's Theatre in New York, on May 7, 1888. Mrs. 
Heme assumed the role of Mary Miller, and infused it with 
a subtle interpretation of art for truth's sake, a character- 



JAMES A. HERNE 99 

istic most distinctive in her work. Mr. Garland spoke of it 
in these terms: "It was so utterly opposed to the tragedy of 
the legitimate. Here was tragedy that appalled and fasci- 
nated like the great fact of living. . . . The fourth act was 
like one of Millet's paintings." 

And here it is well to note a wonderful point marking Mr. 
Heme's activity. His lines of life were so cast that he was 
denied the advantages of the student, although he possessed 
the mind of the scholar. Without any apparent effort on his 
part, he absorbed the best literature, and it was an easy matter 
for him to reach the heart of any subject which attracted his 
attention. Although he set himself down to write a melo- 
drama when he began "The Minute Men," and although, 
because of this very self -consciousness on his part, he failed in 
his attempt, he was nevertheless successful in attaining a cer- 
tain atmosphere of historical reality, akin to the true Revo- 
lutionary spirit. This was more solidly and more artistically 
accomplished in " The Rev. Griffith Davenport, " ^ which is 
one of Mr. Heme's best contributions to dramatic literature, 
however much we might be inclined to claim that "Sag 
Harbor" contains his most finished writing. Of all Civil 
War dramas it is assuredly the finest example of a balance of 
tmth, artistic situation, and equal justice to both sides, which 
is lacking in "Shenandoah" and "The Heart of Maryland." 
The point of view is one which might be said to be as much 
Southern as Northern. The principle of slavery was antag- 
onistic to Mr. Heme's social philosophy; and should the 
bias be found at all in this play, it would lie in his interpre- 
tation of duty as confronting Griffith Davenport. For the 
Southerner was fighting as much to sustain State rights as 
to protect his slave property; historical fact will show that 
at the beginning of the war, slavery as an institution was 

1 Based on Helen H. Gardner's novel, "The UnoflBcial Patriot." 



100 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

decreasing through an economic, evolutionary change. Dav- 
enport's struggle was not so much that of a Southerner who 
was torn between his duty to State and his duty to country, 
as it was the conception of Mr. Heme, whose idea of duty 
was wholly from the standpoint of country, and not from 
that of State. The atmosphere of the drama is very success- 
fully obtained through the handling of the simple details of 
Southern life. Perhaps there was an over-accentuation of 
the darky characteristics, but they were not the customary 
antics of the stage minstrel or of the conventional Southern 
drama. As a playwright, Mr. Heme infused into his darkies 
that same strain of humanity which he is said to have put 
into a negro character-part he once played with such deter- 
mined and realistic villainy. 

It is significant to obtain Mr. Heme's own estimate of his 
different plays. We find him analyzing the cause for this 
success and for that failure; we hear him making a confession 
that although "Hearts of Oak," in its dealing with Marble- 
head folk, was a new departure, since it had neither hero 
nor villain, it was crude in construction. With a simple 
naivete, he recognized in "The Minute Men," with its Paul 
Revere 's ride and its Battle of Lexington, a step nearer the 
truth; while in its character of Dorothy Foxglove it afforded 
a "glorious" role for Mrs. Heme. He was frank enough to 
confess that in "Drifting Apart," his story of Gloucester 
fishermen, based on "Mary, the Fisher's Child," there was 
displayed a weak comedy element in the introduction of the 
stage soubrette and the funny man. Even in " Margaret Flem- 
ing," he evidently felt that there were didactic spots in the 
dialogue. So that by this self-criticism of the artist, we are 
able, to a certain extent, to catch glimpses of the whole-souled 
sincerity of the man, who sought truth externally, simply 
because he saw clearly its spirit. As he has written: "Art 
is a personal expression of life. The finer the form and color 



JAMES A. HERNE 101 

and the larger the truth, the higher the art. . . . Art is uni- 
versal; it can be claimed by no man, creed, race, or time, 
and all art is good." 

The change that came over Mr. Heme after having pro- 
duced "Drifting Apart " was coincident with an intellectual 
and spiritual change affecting both himself and his wife. 
As I have said, they were mentally receptive of new ideas. 
They were following, in Huxley, in Spencer, in Howells, in 
Tolstoi, those tendencies, which, attracting one to higher 
conceptions of ethical duty and of social justice, brought one's 
view-point nearer to the common life. Mrs. Heme was 
always mentally keen. Hamlin Garland writes of her: 
"To see her radiant with intellectual enthusiasm, one has 
but to start a discussion of the nebular hypothesis, or to 
touch upon the atomic theory, or doubt the inconceivability 
of matter. She is perfectly oblivious to space and time if 
she can get some one to discuss Flammarion's supersensuous 
world of force, Mr. George's theory of land-holding, or 
Spencer's law of progress." 

The next artistic effort that Mr. Heme put his hand to 
was by no means fraught with elements of popularity. It 
was truth laid bare, with no gloss of romanticism about it, 
however much it might be saturated with feeling; souls 
stark naked in their sin, and in their vigorous dealing with 
sin. One marvels, after having read "Margaret Fleming," 
what there is of tangible literary value in such a story, for 
one undoubtedly feels its value. It proves nothing, it has no 
direct intent; it is a segment of life painted with no idea of 
gaining art effects, but showing how very close to life one's 
vision may be. The realism is almost pitiless in its conse- 
quences; it is almost photographic in its detail. It is the 
commonplace story of the man who goes wrong, and whose 
illegitimate child is nurtured by his wife after she has dis- 
covered his transgressions. It is the close tragedy of a 



102 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

woman's struggle to estimate at its full worth the animal 
instinct in man. 

For the student of American drama, Mr. Heme's activity 
as a writer falls easily into two classes. We may narrow our 
consideration down, so as to include "Margaret Fleming" 
and "The Rev. Griffith Davenport" on the one hand, with 
"Shore Acres" and "Sag Harbor" on the other; the former 
representing his realism, and the latter representing — if 
we must designate him by a term — his rural characteristics 
which were more vital than those of Denman Thompson, as 
seen in "The Old Homestead. "^ When "Margaret Flem- 
ing" was ready for presentation, the dramatist found him- 
self in a peculiar position, for no manager dared risk capital 
on a piece so freed from what the public was usually accus- 
tomed to, and so devoid of a happy ending. Likewise, there 
were certain situations which appeared to shock the conven- 
tional taste. It was at this time that Hamlin Garland 
began to take that interest in the Heme family which rap- 
idly ripened into the deepest friendship. He and Mr. 
Howells seemed to recognize the rare originality which lay 
in the simple style of Mr. Heme's work. Even in "Drift- 
ing Apart," melodramatic though it was, there were certain 
direct, incisive, and simple passages of writing that partook 
of the very highest and best qualities in realism. 

So that, naturally, "Margaret Fleming "^ perforce appealed 
to these two literary men, who became so far interested as 
not only to suggest the idea, but to further the scheme of 
leasing Chickering Hall in Boston, and of presenting the 
play to an intellectual assemblage which, unfortunately, is 



1 Mr. Thompson (1833-1911) was not prolific. "The Old Home- 
stead" was originally called "Joshua Whitcomb." 

2 "Shore Acres" was really being evolved by Mr. Heme before 
the writing of "Margaret Fleming." The play was dedicated to 
his children, Julie, Chrystal, and Dorothy, 



JAMES A. HERNE 103 

difficult to gather together for a theatre performance. The 
piece ran for several weeks, but it was a financial failure, al- 
though the press recognized a certain subtle force, a certain 
plain and vital power which were rarely seen upon the stage. 
This was in the year 1890, when Ibsen was practically un- 
Imown to the American theatre-going public, when the slight- 
est deviation from the accepted conventions of morality was 
regarded as boldness. It was this attitude of mind more 
than anything which the play itself contained, that involved 
it in such disastrous consequences. When the piece was 
revived at the Art Theatre in Chicago, during 1907, with 
Miss Chrystal Heme in the title role and with Mrs. Heme 
as stage manager, all of the critics recognized its forcefulness 
and its serious simplicity, deploring the fact that it had re- 
mained in obscurity for so long a time, when in every respect 
one was justified in regarding it as a high specimen of Ameri- 
can dramatic art. 

Mr. Heme's next piece, "The Rev. Griffith Davenport,"^ 
met with the same cold reception, and it is natural to find 
him becoming somewhat discouraged as to the possibilities of 
carrying the American public with him along the lines which 
meant most to him, and which he was best fitted to follow. 
So he determined thereafter to add popular qualities to his 
stark realism. Not for a moment could he have discarded 
his innate ability to deal with simple things; but he drew 
upon the stock subterfuges of the old school, at times becom- 
ing a little over-sentimental, whereas one of the beauties of 
"Margaret Fleming" was the depth of its tragic sentiment. 

The interstices between the completion of his several 
pieces were filled up by Mr. Heme's acting, and likewise 
by his excellent stage management, which was always in 
demand for large productions. There are some who believe 

^ It was begun in the summer of 1894, and not produced until 
1899. 



104 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

that as a stage manager Mr. Heme's influence upon the pres- 
ent is more marked than as a dramatist. Through kindly 
guidance and illuminating interpretation, he impressed his 
methods upon all of the actors who were under his care; and 
many on the stage to-day regard Mr. Heme as the one force 
which meant most to them in their careers. But in the 
future, Mr. Heme's position will be dependent entirely upon 
his value as a dramatist. 

There are a few facts, leading up to the close of Mr. Heme's 
life, which have to be regarded. After going to Boston, 
around 1890, he lived in a modest little home at Ashmont, 
in the suburbs. The failure of "Margaret Fleming" was 
coincident with a rather unsettled period in the history of 
literary Boston, a period which — to use Mr. Garland's 
expression — was marked by a discovery of the fact that 
to meet success every one had to go to New York. So that 
about the same time he, Mr. Howells, and Mr. Heme all 
went to that city. It was not until 1894 that Mr. Heme 
moved with his family to his estate in Southampton, Long 
Island, where the dramatist did much of his final writing, 
and where he was able to satisfy his love of the sea and his 
thorough enjoyment of home life. At this time one would 
be sure to note his fondness for the fields and his enthusiasm 
for tennis and bicycling. Simple of heart and boyish in 
action, there was nothing so important that he would not 
spare the time to mend a broken doll for his daughter Dorothy. 
Here also he was drawn more and more into interests other 
than those dealing with drama. His reading became broader, 
his political opinions became pronounced, in fact so pro- 
nounced as to demand his time for public speaking in the 
interests of Henry George. So ardent was he in his 
acceptance of the doctrine of free access to the soil, that 
his theatrical manager at one time advised him to be more 
careful, inasmuch as his theatre audiences might resent his 



JAMES A. HERNE 105 

political views. But Mr. Heme was not a man to fear 
consequences. To the day of his death, June 2, 1901, he 
was an ardent supporter of Bryan. 

It is hard to separate a consideration of Mr. Heme the 
dramatist, from an estimate of Mr. Heme the man. His 
plays contain unmistakable signs of that wonderful kindli- 
ness of spirit which was so marked in his daily association 
with people. He was a man who, in exterior, might be con- 
sidered blunt; but Nature often endows a person gifted with 
a love for the human with a certain protection against a too 
ready acceptance of everyone. And so that guest was for- 
tunate who succeeded in breaking through the reserve, 
behind which lay the true James A. Heme, inveterate joker, 
good comrade, and active thinker. In him there was an in- 
exhaustible fund of joy and, as one critic said, he was always 
intellectually young. This was strikingly evident in his 
association with his own children, the family comprising 
three daughters and one son: Julie Heme, who has already 
very creditably illustrated her inherited gift of playwriting 
in "Richter's Wife" — given a hearing several years ago; 
Chrystal Heme, who has done some distinctive acting; and 
Dorothy Heme who was on the stage for several years, 
appearing in "Shore Acres." The three have all appeared 
severally and together in the juvenile roles of their father's 
plays. The son. Jack, is already exhibiting in his school 
career certain characteristics of his father. The household 
to-day is permeated with those kindly memories which be- 
speak more than anything else the full force of Mr. Heme's 
influence. A mixture of Irish keenness of humor with vigor 
of ideas marks the daily life of the Heme family, and during 
the dramatist's lifetime it was just this distinctive vein which 
was found in the general atmosphere around him. 

There are some men born to see clearly, to be zealous 
after the vital principles of life, the constant truths of the 



106 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

ages, — the interchange of thoughts and ideas which elevate 
in the effort to hve our highest and best. These are the 
thoughts which were usually upon the lips of Mr. Heme. He 
was a man of the present, drawing from the moment what 
was truest from his standpoint. He loved the theatre, but 
he was always careful, even in the midst of his stage direc- 
tions, to call attention to those realistic bits of acting which 
one identifies with life rather than with the simulation of 
life. 

He took his art seriously ; ^ he recognized in it a social force 
and a civilizing factor. He believed that truth in art was 
as much within the grasp of the stage as of the pulpit, that 
the theatre was as much to be upheld in the light of a temple 
for the work of the dramatist, as a museum was to be con- 
sidered a civilizing factor in its capacity as temple for the 
art of the painter. The theatre to him was a place for the 
upholding of good. He once said: "We must not condemn 
an art or an institution because a corrupt civilization has 
affected it." He further said that "the province of the 
theatre is not to preach objectively, but to teach subjectively." 
He recognized that an art was vicious only because of the 
existence of lovers of vicious art. He was broad in his ideas; 
his voice was always heard in the cause of liberty — whether 
political or artistic. He was to a certain extent an individu- 
alist, recognizing that the Kingdom of God is within us; yet 
according to his own v/ords: "No individual can emanci- 
pate the race; he cannot even emancipate his own calling. 
The race must be taught to emancipate itself. " 

We do not find Mr. Heme afraid to state his own position, 
to formulate his own belief. What was he spiritually but 
a firm upholder of the force of deed, over and above creed? 
As though it were his own declaration of faith, he wrote: 

1 Mr. Heme was one of the first actors to make c stand against 
the binding influence of the Theatrical Syndicate. 



JAMES A. HERNE 107 

" I believe that every human being has a certain amount of 
divinity — that is, of God — within him; just as much of God 
as he is capable of holding. And he gives out just as much of 
that divinity as he is capable of expressing. And I believe 
that if he were not bound down by unjust social laws, that 
if he were free, the divinity would grow and develop and prop- 
agate its specie. In other words, I believe that when we 
free men, when we free labor, we will free art, we will free 
the Church, and elevate the theatre, and not until then. " 

This conviction, this recognition of the spiritual in the 
material, this connection of the facts of life with the unknown 
forces in the world, were not confined to theoretical discus- 
sions. Mr. Heme's political convictions were likewise 
founded upon convictions within himself. During the 
Henry George campaign, when he took the stump in the 
cause of single tax, we find him connecting art with the civic 
life of the people, we find him realizing, as only a man can 
who recognizes that art is an expression of life, that the pro- 
ducers and the non-producers of the world may be regarded 
from the standpoint of dealing in spirit as well as of dealing 
in wheat and hemp and tobacco. Art, whether it be the 
shaping of a statue, the writing of a sonnet, or the growing of 
a prize ear of corn, has a common point of contact. And 
so again we hear him saying : " The pen, the easel, the chisel, 
the harp, the sock and buskin, are in reality tools of labor; 
and the men who wield them are laborers, and their interests 
are swayed by the welfare and prosperity of those who till 
the soil, shear the sheep, and weave the cloth. " 

There are two characteristic notes throughout Mr. Heme's 
plays, which stand as a fair indication of the man. We 
find his love of the beautiful in the sense that truth alone 
is beautiful; and that he approved of Enneking's belief 
that "the ideal is the choicest expression of the real," is 
sufficient measure of his high moral outlook upon life. We 



108 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

note his realization of the human qualities which underlie 
all nature; and it may be further added that he had that 
pride of race, that instinct of the parental which were so well 
exhibited in "Margaret Fleming/' and in such comments 
as these: "Maternity I consider the noblest theme of human 
kind; and I have no patience with that false prudery which 
would keep from young people truths they ought to know 
about in their purest and holiest sense. " 

Mr. Heme is little known, outside of a limited number of 
people in this country. Now that he is dead, it is hard to 
secure actors who can fill roles that he usually assumed 
with such fulness of interpretation. William Archer has 
from time to time called the English public's attention to 
the plays of America's most distinctive dramatist. But 
unfortunately, the English public has only seen the rural 
pieces, slightly amended to accord with English understand- 
ing. Even we in America have not been fully awakened to 
what Mr. Heme means in the general dramatic and literary 
development. He was a writer of direct and simple prose; 
his images were not involved, his characters were not ob- 
scured by symbolistic motives. In his narrative, in his 
descriptions — when he was at his best, one is reminded of 
the vigorous prose of Lincoln; a direct speech based not on 
any effort for effect, but prompted by desire to say something, 
or to tell something in the clearest manner possible. And 
in closing, it were well to quote one paragraph from a speech 
of Mr. Heme's, which stands out above all others because 
of the fact that it represents the simplicity, the depth, and 
the whole-souled sincerity of the man. Moreover, it stands 
as a beautiful bit of prose. The quotation relates to his 
turning from the writing of "Margaret Fleming" to a con- 
sideration of "The Hawthornes" — which later became 
"Shore Acres": 

" Mrs. Heme had gone with two of our daughters to spend 



JAMES A. HERNE 109 

a few weeks of the summer at Lemoyne, on Frenchman's 
Bay, in Maine, and insisted that I should come there and 
work on the play, and get the benefit of true color and Maine 
atmosphere; and I went. What an exalted idea of God one 
gets, down in that old Pine State. One must recognize the 
sublimity which constantly manifests itself there. It is 
worth something to live for two whole months on French- 
man's Bay, that beautiful inconstant bay, one minute white 
with rage, the next all smiles and gently lapping the foot- 
hills of old Mount Desert; with the purple mist on the Blue 
Hills in the distance on the one hand, the Schoodic range on 
the other; the perfume of the pine trees in every breath 
you inhale, the roar of the ocean eight miles away, and the 
bluest of blue skies overarching all. In such a spot as that 
a man must realize, if he has never realized it before, that 
he and this planet are one, and part of the universal whole. " 



NOTE 

None of Mr. Heme's plays have been published. The only copies 
extant of " Margaret Fleming" and "The Rev. Griffith Davenport" 
were burned in a fire that totally destroyed "Heme Oaks," Dec. 11, 
1909. The following references will be of use to the student: 
"Mr. and Mrs. Heme." Hamlin Garland. Arena, October, 1891, 

pp. 543-60. 
"Old Stock Days in the Theatre." James A. Heme. Arena, 6:401, 

September, 1892. 
"On a Barn Roof." Julie Adrienne Heme. Arena, December, 1893, 

pp. 131-33. 
"Mask or Mirror." B. O. Flower. Arena, 8:304, 1893. 
"Truth for Tmth's Sake in Drama." James A. Heme. Arena, 17: 

361-70, Feb., 1897. [This was used as a lecture before the 

Home Congress at Cotillion Hall, Boston, Oct. 27, 1896. On 

Jan. 31, 1897, Mr. Heme appeared in the pulpit of the First 

Congregational Church, Kansas City, and delivered a lecture 

on "The Theatre as It Is."] 
"James A. Heme: Actor, Dramatist, and Man." An appreciation 

by Hamlin Garland, J. J. Enneking, and B. O. Flower. Arena, 

26:282-92, September, 1901. 



no THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

"James A. Heme in Griffith Davenport." Marco Tiempo. Arena, 

22:375, Sept. 1899. 
"Rev. Griffith Davenport." J. Corbin, Harp. Wk., 43:139, 213; 

John D. Barry, Lit. W., Bost., 30:57; Howells, Literature, 4: 

265-66. 
"Margaret Fleming." Howells. Harp. Mag., Editor's Study, 83: 

478, August, 1891. 
"Heme and his New Play, 'Sag Harbor'." F. Wayne. NaVl Mag., 

Bost., 11:393. 
"The American Stage." Third Article. William Archer. Pall Mall 

Magazine, 20:23-37. 
"Players of the Present." John Bouv6 Clapp and Edwin Francis 

Edgett. Dunlap Soc, pt. 1, 1899, p. 148. 
"The Stage in America." Norman Hap-good. Macmillan. Chap. 

Ill, "Our Two Ablest Dramatists." 
"Famous Actors of To-day in America." Lewis C. Strang. Page, 

1900. Chap. II, "James A. Heme." 
The following is a list of Mr. Heme's plays, with the dates of first 
productions : 
"Hearts of Oak" (first produced under the name of " Churns "): 

Baldwin's Theatre, San Francisco, Cal., Sept. 9, 1879. 
"Minute Men ": Chestnut Street Theatre, Philadelphia, Pa., April 5, 

1886. 
"Drifting Apart" (first called "Mary, the Fisherman's Child"): 

People's Theatre, New York City, May 7, 1888. 
"Margaret Fleming": Lynn Theatre, Lynn, Mass., July 4, 1890. 

Revived, Chicago, 111., Jan. 29, 1907. 
"Shore Acres" (formerly called "The Hawthornes"): McVicker's 

Theatre, Chicago, 111., May 23, 1892. 
"Griffith Davenport": Lafayette Square Theatre, Washington, 

D. C, Jan. 16, 1899. 
"Sag Harbor": Park Theatre, Boston, Mass., Oct. 23, 1899. 



CHAPTER VII 

DAVID BELASCO AND THE PSYCHOLOGY OF THE 
SWITCHBOARD 

The story is told of an artist who, in the cramped quarters 
of his room, was wont to do the most exquisite pictures, 
marked by finesse and dehcacy; but no sooner had he ac- 
cumulated enough to afford a larger studio than the deft- 
ness of his art deserted him. It is one of the unexplainable 
points about all professions that there is a limit to expression; 
that there is a line where effect has its greatest scope, beyond 
which the appeal goes to waste. The story points a dramatic 
moral. For Dion Boucicault, in the course of his vast ex- 
perience as playwright, actor and manager, discovered that 
beyond a certain number, it was difficult to fuse the minds 
of an audience; to grip their attention and to hold it. 

Such is the snag against which the stockholders of the New 
Theatre in New York first struck. They wished to build an 
art playhouse of certain proportions, with a stage far exceed- 
ing in amplitude the proscenium width of any ordinary 
theatre, and suitable for light opera, spectacular and draw- 
ing-room drama. This is well-nigh impossible; for, to illus- 
trate the point in exaggeration, it would be artistic suicide 
to spread the boxed-in delicacy of Pinero's "Trelawny of 
the ' Wells ' " over an area of the Hippodrome stage. 

And so, the art of the drama is the art of all arts, where 
proportion, perspective and color accumulate for a given 
effect. No one has studied this fact to greater purpose than 



112 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

David Belasco, in whom the instinct of the painter before his 
canvas is the dominant characteristic, — an instinct which 
must assuredly prompt the mechanism of any art theatre we 
may ever hope to have. When the story of scenic reahsm is 
told, he will occupy a distinctive position. Such a survey 
will narrate how Mrs. John Drew, once playing in "London 
Assurance," created a sensation by having a real carpet and 
mirror among the properties for one act. Not only in this, but 
in all of Boucicault's productions, some marvel of stage 
mechanism indicated to what extent the scenic art could be 
carried; and David Belasco has continued the tradition. 

In our invariable effort to estimate a man, even though 
what he next does may upset our theories, there are two 
phases to be considered, one of which includes the other. 
Our view depends primarily on what he has done; it is tem- 
pered by the direct influence which has been brought to 
bear upon him by others. No matter what claims to origin- 
ality an artist may have, no matter how strong the impress 
of his personality, those subtle workings of environment and 
of unconscious imitation are perforce obliged to develop 
within the man a certain inclination, a certain leaning, which 
will shape his angle of vision. To say that Mr. Belasco was 
for a time private secretary to Boucicault; to understand 
that he acknowledges the influence upon him of such pieces 
as "The Robbers," "Pizarro," and "Fazio" ; to follow the 
status of the theater when he first reached New York in 1882 
— a status measured by the success of such French melo- 
dramas as "The Two Orphans," "The Celebrated Case," 
and "Rose Michel" — these factors will, if examined in 
extenso, explain something about Mr. Belasco*s impetus as a 
playwright. 

The man behind his ascetic dress is a combination of con- 
flicting elements. It is easy to say this of anyone; but in 
the case of Mr, Belasco, facts and conditions make it evident. 




Photo, by The Misses Selby 



David Belasco 



DAVID BELASCO 113 

His manner betrays the artistic temperament; his steady 
look has two quahties, one which explains how he reaches 
the estimate of an actor's limitations, and the other in what 
manner he has withstood the enmity of the Theatrical Trust. 
It is not always essential for a dramatist to penetrate deeply 
into life, but one cannot deny that Mr. Belasco's glance has 
taken the details in thoroughly. He has had the experience 
which should come to all writers of plays ; he has been thrown 
against the strong contrasts of living which are usually to 
be found in a mining camp; he has lurked in the highways 
and byways of existence, unconsciously gathering those ele- 
mental stuffs which are the essential ingredients in all pas- 
sion. These he has in most cases toned down, but the brutal 
elements in "Du Barry" and in "Adrea" indicate to what 
uses experience of this kind is brought. 

There is the ascetic streak in David Belasco, colored by a 
pronounced spiritual and contrasting sentimental verve; 
there is the tinge of morbidity which is always attendant 
upon a clinical analysis of psychological phenomena. None 
but Mr. Belasco himself can realize the satisfaction he gained 
many years ago through watching the heart of a woman as 
it lay upon a plate before him. Yet such was the actual 
occurrence, all the while his imagination playing havoc with 
the physical object. In like manner has the manager studied 
the effects of poisons upon the body, reasoning out the 
physical contortions as they differed under varying condi- 
tions. This preparation for the drama is not essential to 
all playwrights; it suited Mr. Belasco's temperament that 
he seek impressions in this manner. 

Yet side by side with this curiosity that digs into the 
physical causes and effects, there is the other phase character- 
istic of the ascetic nature — the love of solitude. For five 
years, during the formative period of his life, Mr. Belasco 
was under the guidance of the priesthood at Vancouver. 



114 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The eight-year-old boy was impressionable, and Father 
McGuire, if he could not educate his tastes away from the 
stage, at least set a mark of ecclesiasticism upon his dress, 
to which he has always adhered. In contrast with the little 
fellow, asleep in his cheerless cell of the monastery, may be 
set the picture of the nervous playwright as he is to-day, 
closeted in his secret studio with his books and curios, totally 
alone in a roaring city, since none know where that workshop 
may be, except a few of his essential staff. 

Here it is that he plans in secret, the slightest suggestions 
bringing meaning to him; he is a lover of the twilight; in 
the thunder and the lightning are hidden possible electrical 
impressions. His is the quick grasp of the picturesque, the 
striking, the impressionable. In every respect does he 
practice the technique of the painter before his canvas. 

Mr. Belasco is the second present-day dramatist of note 
to draw upon Iberian traits, for his family, like the Pineros, 
were of ancient Portuguese extraction, and were forced to 
flee to England before the wrath of the Moors. But, while 
the Pineros remained as British subjects, the Belascos of 
David's immediate stock proceeded still further to Victoria 
(in Vancouver), where the father of the present playwright 
became rich and was elected Mayor, then became poor again 
and made another move to San Francisco, drawn there by 
optimistic accounts which marked the gold fever of 1849.^ 

In that city it was that the present holder of the name was 
born on July 25, 1859. There is little to record of these 
early days. It must have been before his departure to Van- 
couver with Father McGuire that he assumed juvenile roles 
in "Pizarro" with Charles Kean; in "Metamora" with 
Edwin Forrest; in "East Lynne" v\dth Julia Dean. Before 
then, also, he received some slight school training, as well as 

1 In crossing the Isthmus of Panama, his mother gained distinc- 
tion as the first woman traveler to do so. 



DAVID BELASCO 115 

gained some reputation as a reciter of a piece called "The 
Madman. " 

When he returned from his priest friends, he was thirteen 
and not yet quite through his education, for he was placed 
at Lincoln College, from which he was graduated in 1875. 
When he was scarcely fourteen, he could boast authorship 
of "Jim Black; or. The Regulator's Revenge." All through 
these years forces in him and around him were pointing to- 
ward the stage. It does not take much to fan a liking into 
a passion, and it is recorded how, having once gone to see 
" Hamlet, " the boy had rushed home to the garret and there 
played through the drama, even essaying, at this early age, 
to rewrite the dialogue from memory! 

Then followed the months of a struggling actor. He 
began by supporting Mary Welles in "The Lion of Nu- 
bia, " and soon, throwing his whole future into the dramatic 
scales, Mr. Belasco experienced the vicissitudes of the ex- 
hibitor of Egyptian mysteries, of the melodramatic "super," 
even for a while playing Hamlet and Richard III himself 
in the mountain towns and backwoods settlements of the 
West. He was fortunate, during this period, in being brought 
into direct contact with the golden era of American acting. 
Edwin Booth, John McCullough, E. A. Sothern, William 
Florence, Edwin Adams and Adelaide Nielson were the 
stars in the San Francisco of those days. He even joined 
Sothern 's "Dundreary" company, appearing as the valet. 

Thereafter began the training of David Belasco as assis- 
tant stage manager of a theatre in Virginia City, where the 
stock company was prepared for any emergency, from farce 
to tragedy, and where Belasco was supposed, much as Ibsen 
had been expected at Bergen, to fit dramas for production. 
He did more than this, since he was required to act as well as 
to manage. While serving in this capacity, Dion Boucicault 
and his company arrived to fill an engagement. The Irish 



116 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

wizard, in the writing of plays, could juggle with three plots 
at a time; he had, with Laura Keene, produced a play within 
an abnormally short period by rehearsing one act while in 
the midst of writing another. He was alert to activity of 
all kinds, and he found energy to his liking in the assistant 
stage manager. 

When he left Virginia City, Boucicault carried Belasco 
with him as private secretary, and to his young associate 
"Led Astray *' was dictated, besides the scenes for many 
other productions. It is not likely that the effectiveness 
which marked the Boucicault drama would escape the future 
wizard of American stage-craft. ' " Arrah-na-Pogue," when 
it reached San Francisco, became the one strong outside 
influence to affect the theatrical conditions on the Pacific 
slope. The secretary might have gone to New York soon 
after had his mother not intervened; and it was just as 
well, since the experience which he was now to gain as man- 
ager and stock dramatist of the Baldwin Theatre matured 
his managerial powers and at the same time brought him 
into association with James A. Heme, who, for a while, was 
at the same theatre. The play-goer of the present gener- 
ation needs must weigh the value of such repertoires as old- 
time actors used to carry — dramas that called for the 
varying shades of classic comedies, and the historical scope 
of different styled tragedies. But though there was a con- 
ventional way of regulating all stock companies, Belasco, 
even at that early date, began to introduce original methods, 
and Charles Thorne, Frank Mayo and Edwin Adams — 
all men of longer experience — soon came to regard his ad- 
vice as authoritative. 

Belasco was the youngest manager along the Pacific slope. 
The theatre was run on a somewhat crude, though very 
artistic, scale. Audiences of all classes had to be catered 
to, and a motley, picturesque crowd gathered together on 



/ 






'**^^. 



:'J:-^ ■''^Vi,i^'^- 



,4"f^^ 



A. M. Palmer 



Phoio. by Sarony 



DAVID BELASCO 117 

Saturdays — the melodrama evenings — to thrill over " The 
Idiot of the Mountains " and "The Robber of the Pyrenees/' 
Thus the years passed at the Baldwin Theatre, the Grand 
Opera House and the Metropohtan. When finally Belasco 
decided, in 1882, to go to New York, his confidence in him- 
self was backed by an enviable experience. No schooling 
is better for a playwright than just this intimate contact 
which Mr. Belasco had had with the hundreds of plays that 
came under his supervision. Already his hand had been 
turned to dramatizations, adaptations and even original 
work. 

But when the Mallorys engaged him as stage director 
and stock dramatist of the Madison Square Theatre, they 
probably placed more store by his general usefulness as a 
producer, as a manipulator of other people's crude material, 
than as an author of any formidable proportions. 

New York was then going through its final decade of 
old-time managerial policies; the Theatrical Trust was still 
to come; the American playwright, in the face of foreign 
importations, was finding it difficult to gain recognition; 
Mr. Howard was battling hard and receiving rough handhng 
by the critics for his " Saratoga." A. M. Palmer was meet- 
ing success with French melodramas; Wallack, atune to 
English melodrama, was soon listening to Belasco's tempting 
offer of "La Belle Russe''; Daly, at the most disastrous 
period of his career, was tottering through an opera craze. 
The latter manager had begun with marked success; such 
pieces as "Under the Gas Light," "Article 47" (for Clara 
Morris) and "Pique" (for Fanny Davenport) had obtained 
instant favor. He had been drawing from France, when he 
adapted "Frou-Frou" for Agnes Ethel, and he had turned 
to the German of Mosenthal for " Leah, the Forsaken." It 
was after this that he found a mine in the German farce. 

In the midst of all this conglomerate emotional material, 



118 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Mr. Belasco found the Madison Square Theatre devoted 
to the quiet domestic play, so quiet that it had drawn down 
upon it the derisive title of "milk and water" drama. Natu- 
rally the distorted methods of acting would not suit this 
style of play. Those were the days of over-emphasis, big 
periods, measured intervals, and rounded gesture. Mr. 
Belasco proceeded to sacrifice all of this bombast, much to 
the surprise and doubt of his co-workers. The comedian 
no longer was allowed to wait for a laugh; it had either to 
come through the pure unctiousness of the character-acting, 
or not at all. Such a regime as the young manager instituted 
soon won the confidence of everyone. 

The little playhouse on Twenty-fourth Street was in the 
hey-day of its existence; A. M. Palmer soon became inter- 
ested in its success; the stock company which bore its name 
was winning public favor; a school of acting was to involve 
the labors of Henry C. De Mille and Boucicault, who turned 
to it, broken in health and sorely disturbed in mind. Mr. 
De Mille was play-reader for the theatre, which meant, for 
example, that in three months he examined two hundred 
manuscripts submitted by would-be American playwrights! 

When, however, a drama was accepted, it was soon turned 
over to Mr. Belasco for final shaping. This is what happened 
to Mr. Howard's "The Young Mrs. Winthrop"; suggested 
changes were made on all sides, and the final re-casting was 
accomplished with Belasco's assistance. The result was 
that by the production Mr. Howard gained warm com- 
mendation from the press, and Mr. Belasco immediately 
found himself in possession of considerable prestige. 

What followed, up to the time that the latter joined forces 
with Daniel Frohman at the Lyceum, in 1885,^ constitutes the 
history of the New York theatre rather than the develop- 

1 See "Memories of a Manager." Daniel Frohman. 1911. 



DAVID BELASCO 119 

ment of the American dramatist. It is only necessary to 
say that under such conditions, and together with Mr. 
Belasco's temperament, there grew into dominant propor- 
tions a managerial grasp, an analytical keenness for large 
effect, a marvelous readiness to assimilate according to his 
needs, an instinctive and unerring eye for the romantic. 

Up to this time little of his actual stage writing had brought 
him any unusual distinction. Between his arrival in the 
East and his collaborating with De Mille, "La Belle Russe'* 
(Wallack's, 1882), " The Stranglers of Paris" (1883), "Hearts 
of Oak" (with Mr. Heme) (1884) f/ and "May Blossom" 
(1884)2 had met with success. But there were also to his 
credit titles which are not even familiar in name to the 
present generation of threatre-goers. In this category are 
included "Valerie," "Miss Helyett," "Pawn Ticket 210,"t 
"The Moonlight Marriage," "The Doll Master," "A Christ- 
mas Night," " Within an Inch of His Life," " The Lone Pine," 
"American Born," "Not Guilty," "The Haunted House," 
"Cherry and Fair Star," "Sylvia's Loves," "Paul Arniff," 
"The Curse of Cain," "The Millionaire's Daughter," "The 
Ace of Spades" and "The Roll of the Drum." One is not 
far wrong in inferring that, however effective these may have 
been, there was more melodramatic situation in them than 
definite intent, nor did they have sufficient distinctiveness 
in themselves to survive the immediate atmosphere and 
demand which encouraged them. Had it not been that Mr. 
Belasco's art instinct as a constructive manager was upper- 
most at the time, he might have been contributing at this 
moment to the broad melodrama which thrives on the 
morbid, however it may seek to glorify virtue. But so 

* Plays marked thus (f) indicate collaboration. 

2 This is the only one of Mr. Belasco's plays that has so far been 
published. It is included in the French series. "The Grand Army 
Man" has been "novelized" by Harvey J. O'Higgins. 



120 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

characteristic did this art side become, that one cannot 
separate the manager from the author. 

By the deftness of stage manipulation which had made 
him so sought after that the Mallorys on occasions were 
forced to lend him to others, pubHc attention was now cen- 
tred upon the Lyceum. The association of Mr. De Mille 
with Mr. Behisco resulted in four plays, all marked with certain 
conventions that characterize Mr. Howard at his best — 
stock situations that balance three sets of opposite characters : 
the ingenue roles, the romantic hero and heroine, and the 
middle-aged couple upon whom comedy, bordering nigh 
on to farce, is unerringly practiced. We see this in "The 
Charity Ball" (1889), as well as in "Men and Women" 
(1890). Then there was "The Wife," a drama w^hich in 
1887 was brought into the courts, where an unsuccessful 
suit was tried, with Frances Aymar Mathews as the plaintiff. 
But the greatest coup which the two made together was the 
preparation of a role in "Lord Chumley" (1888), for E. H. 
Sothern, which marked the son with some of the excellent 
comedy capabilities belonging to his father, whose "Lord 
Dundreary" was undoubtedly the source of inspiration. 
It must be said that the collaborators succeeded in develop- 
ing a certain human sympathy for the fop w^hich was not 
unlike the loveableness so pronounced in the earlier role} 

Between 1890 and 1895, which last date marks the inception 
of the Theatrical Syndicate, perhaps one might say until 
after "Zaza" (1899) and "Naughty Anthony" (1900), 
which ended his association with any members of the organ- 
ized managerial system, Mr. Belasco must be regarded only 
as a successful stage manager and a skilful playwright and 
adapter. "The Girl I Left Behind Me" (1893), written 

* In 1889, Mr. Belasco and Mr, Franklin Sargent produced the 
"Electra" of Sophocles; while on the Pacific Coast Mr. Belasco 
mounted a version of the Passion Play. 



DAVID BELASCO 121 

in conjunction with Franklyn Fyles, was one of the initial 
successes of the Empire Theatre; "The Heart of Maryland" 
(1895) was one of the first of his dramas stamped by a large 
piece of stage technique, such as the swinging bell, with the 
heroine holding to the clapper; "Zaza" (1899)^ indicates 
the deftness with which his translation quite eclipsed the 
real author of the French original, and his training of Mrs. 
Carter in the title role exemplifies the wonderful illumina- 
tive power with which he can, in his instruction, carry an 
actress to the heart of a character and bring out, as a 
photographer does on a negative, those fine lines which are 
never evident in the first moments. From this time on, 
however, his progress has been marked by two dominant 
notes; he has fought against odds, and has, by his atti- 
tude, brought public attention to bear upon both sides of 
the Trust problem; he has, likewise, incited public curiosity 
through the lavishness of his stagecraft, so thoroughly tak- 
ing hold of popular appeal as well-nigh to hypnotize by 
what is peculiarly, yet legitimately, termed "the Belasco 
atmosphere." 

There are always two sides to a given question, and it 
is never wise to discuss one without laying as much emphasis 
upon the other. Suffice it to say at the present moment, 
whatever move Mr. Belasco has made against the Trust has 
been planned quite as much in the cause of independent 
art as to further his personal interests. He has never once 
gainsaid the advantage of systematizing theatrical finance 
so as to bring the money question down to a thorough bank- 
ing basis; but he has questioned the ethical side of the book- 
ing problem. This places in control of a few hands the 
portioning of time engagements along theatrical circuits 



1 Other plays during this time were "The Senator's Wife" (1892), 
and "The Younger Son" (1893). 



122 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

and involves the playhouses stretched, chain-like, across the 
continent. 

It is a matter of stage history how certain actors made 
bold to stand against the dictatorship of the Trust, and 
how, one by one, they succumbed.^ Not so Mr. Belasco, 
and because, in his theatre he was determined to practice 
his own policy, and not be dictated to, he soon realized 
that along that chain of theatres he was irretrievably de- 
barred; which meant that he must either play in halls or 
be kept out of certain towns. This necessitated his planning 
for his own theatres, in New York, in Washington, in 
Philadelphia, and in Boston. One by one the difficulties 
constituting his exile are being overcome. But to add to 
the condition of theatrical monopoly, Mr. Belasco has had, 
likewise, to face a personal antagonism, which is hardly a 
matter for theatre discussion, however much it may have 
been enlarged because of Mr. Belasco's theatre success. 

Since the opening of his Belasco playhouse in New York, 
the manager has presented a long list of remarkable successes 
from the standpoint of scenic artistry and drawing qualities. 
He has engaged the efforts of John Luther Long, of Charles 
Klein, of Richard Walton TuUy, and of the Misses Phelps 
and Short as collaborators; and under his undoubted genius 
as a painstaking instructor there have come to the fore such 
names as Mrs. Carter, Miss Bates, Mr. Warfield, Mr. Frank 
Keenan, Miss Starr, Miss Walker and Miss O'Neil. Further- 
more, as material for his success, he has depended upon 
"Madame Butterfly "t (1900 — Long), " Du Barry'' (1900), 
"The Darling of the Gods"t (1902 — Long), "Sweet Kitty 



1 For a few articles on the S5nidicate, see: International, 1 : 99-122, 
Jan., 1900, Norman Hapgood; Fortn. Rev., 79:1010-1016, June, 1903, 
Charles Hawtrey; Leslie's Monthly, Oct., 1904,581-592; Nov., 1904, 
31-42; Dec, 1904, 202-210; Jan., 1905, 331-334; Cosmopolitan, 38: 
193-201, Dec, 1904. 



DAVID BELASCO 123 

Bellairs" (1903 — dramatization), " Adrea"t (1905 — 
Long), "The Girl of the Golden West" (1905) ,i "The Rose of 
the Rancho'^t (1906 — Tully), "The Grand Army Man" f 
(1907 — Phelps — Short). To this list may be added his 
assistance as manager in the success of "The Auctioneer" 
and "The Music Master," by Charles Klein, and of "The 
Warrens of Virginia," by William C. De Mille, the son of his 
old collaborator.^ 

What are the elements that mark Mr. Belasco, or it would 
be more in order to say on what special elements does Mr. 
Belasco place the stamp of his own temperament and genius? 
I have been fortunate in having before me the stage copies 
of his important dramas, and I cannot but marvel at the 
strokes which are made by his unerring eye, unerring in the 
sense that his strokes seem always to fulfil the special re- 
quirement which he at the moment needs. The intricate 
movement in the first act of "Zaza," the filmy threads of 
broken dialogue, the minute directions of the dressing-room 
scene, where, not for a moment, even in the reading, is the 
imagination left in doubt as to the details of business — here 
is the painter in his most impressionistic manner, flinging 
splashes of humanity against a canvas, splashes which draw 
together the moment they are brought in continuous and 
active relation one with the other. 

"The Darling of the Gods," over-weighty as it is in its 
mounting, would be difficult to follow in the manuscript, 
were Mr. Belasco 's infinite care of small matters not con- 



1 Made into an opera by Puccini, and sung at the Metropolitan 
Opera House during the season of 1910-11. 

2 Among Mr. Belasco 's recent successes may be mentioned "The 
Lily" (1910) by himself, and "The Concert," adapted from the Ger- 
man by Leo Ditrichstein. Walter's "The Easiest Way" (1909) created 
great discussion in New York, but was debarred, by act of the 
Mayor, from Boston. During the Spring of 1911, he presented 
William De Mille's "The Woman." 



124 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

scientiously set down. Even so, the demand this play makes 
on the imagination, in addition to the amount of imagi- 
nation it shows in itself, is indication of the visual insight 
which he and his collaborator have brought to bear. 

I do not contend that light plots, and property plots, and 
calcium plots entitle a man to the distinction of playwright, 
but the power to conjure up the effective contrasts of high 
light and shadow is as much to Mr. Belasco's credit as it 
is to the artist who paints upon a large canvas. The stage 
settings, sometimes overrich in detail, are nevertheless 
almost always unfailing in their atmospheric effects. The 
courtesan, Du Barry ^ is given a setting which balances the 
savage abandon of her nature with the licentious terrorism 
of the period. "Adrea," barbaric throughout, does not, fail 
to create a disgust which is too strong to be counteracted 
by the moment of sacrifice in the end. These are not char- 
acteristics which are new to Mr. Belasco; they were evi- 
dent in him long before, even though they were not fully 
developed. Some may think that Sardou was the influence 
behind this, but the young dramatist had written " La Belle 
Russe" before Fanny Davenport began with "Fedora" 
in a list which ended with " Gismonda." It was simply the 
innate genius of the stage manager who may not write for 
literature, but who, while he remains active, is a constant 
source of pleasure. 

There is nothing so disillusionizing as an empty theatre 
in daylight; the gaping orchestra chairs show the absence 
of a responsive crowd; the space from pit to dome, from 
centre stage to family circle, is like an empty shell waiting 
for sound and light. But if you possess even the slightest 
sense of the theatre, the scenery with its daub of paint, the 
switchboard with its banks of levers, the stage hands in their 
shirtsleeves, will represent the elements of a great art, whose 
spirit gilds the mechanics of the play. 



DAVID BELASCO 125 

Take for granted that the scene is naught but a house of 
cards, that the back-drop on close view is no more nor less 
than a splash of color, — behind it all is the instinct that 
creates perspective from the flat. The mechanics of the 
stage have been brought to such perfection that their misuse 
instantly reveals the lack of the artist. 

The stage is an organism, a whole of many parts; the 
idea set in dialogue and action must be clothed in speech, 
light, and scene. This is the supreme work of the stage 
manager, — to draw these things together in their truest 
relationship. 

One has a right to speak of the psychology of the switch- 
board, to humanize the mechanics of the theatre. The elec- 
trician holds nature in his hands; he has thought out the 
elements of a prairie sun, and he measures its intensity by 
the number of switches in use. At rehearsals he has diffused 
the scene with many moonlights, until the Italian glamour 
appealed to his feeling. The stage has changed since the 
time Mary Anderson's Juliet faced the headlight of a loco- 
motive, held aloft by a negro boy as the inconstant moon. 
Psychology is essentially a fluid state, and the progress of 
electricity has made it possible for stage lighting to be fluid, 
to be subject to imperceptible shades, to absorb the individ- 
ual rays in a general suffusion. 

Not one of our present-day managers has so profited by the 
response of the electric switchboard to human psychology 
as Mr. Belasco; in his hands it is the very essence of atmos- 
phere, the very indicator of the scene's tone. Whether it 
be the enervating blaze of sunlight in the opening act of 
"The Rose of the Rancho," or the cold gray dawn after the 
night's anguish in "Madame Butterfly," the result repre- 
sents no mechanical accident. Once, not so long ago, effect 
used to be entirely artificial; the villain's entrance was 
heralded by dark, restless music from a few violins, and by the 



126 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

roll of a kettledrum. But to-day, Mr. Belasco has driven 
incidental sentimentality from the orchestra by the depen- 
dence upon the switchboard. 

What do we mean by the psychology of stage lighting? 
Simply that every emotional effect of large import results 
in a corresponding direction being given to the electrician. 
To take an external example, suppose the stage in semi- 
darkness; a character enters with a lighted candle. One 
naturally expects an increase in light, but the intensity must 
move across the stage with the movement of the candle. 
It is here that the electrician, from his platform, plays upon 
his switchboard. By a system of interlocking, and of dim- 
ming the flow of current, he can send across the "foots" a 
flare of lights to follow the candle flame; one bulb is made to 
glow as the other fades. 

Such is the ease of gaining an elementary effect, but the 
principle is the same, however complicated the requirement. 
In his studio, Mr. Belasco first imagines his canvas; he then 
places his "light plots" in the hands of his electrician for 
fulfilment. At rehearsal he adds to, modifies, rejects, fus- 
ing the whole as a painter does with his brush. His stage 
directions at first become mere skeleton notes of transitory 
feeling. His assistant stands near, pencil in hand, watching 
the restless move of the manager, searching among the lights 
for what he wants. The switchboard is taxed to its utter- 
most, mixing color to accord with a certain quality of shadow 
in Mr. Belasco *s mind. 

If a drama is big, if an actor's art is expressive, a story 
may often be ably suggested by pantomime; its emotional 
color, range, and variation in the same way may be sketched 
in light. Having rehearsed his company beyond the " letter 
perfect" point, Mr. Belasco assembles them for light effects. 
His experiments are as much with you as on you. Not 
only must the actors harmonize among themselves, but also 



DAVID BELASCO 127 

with the lights. To their own emotional interpretation of a 
role, they must add the atmospheric effect of the stage light. 
For six minutes the curtain was up before a word was spoken 
in "The Rose of the Rancho." It was a somnolent scene; 
those who saw it felt the drowsy vapor of the glow, the still 
air, and the enervating heat. Let us discount the state- 
ment of the press- agent that " so realistic was the scene, it 
made the stage carpenters drowsy," and be satisfied with 
the plausible fact that the imagination of the actor caused 
the switchboard to react upon himself. 

Undoubtedly, a stage manager should make his people 
feel the lights; if the scene is cold, the actor should find it 
easy to shiver within the bleak, steely rays devoid of all 
warm color. In this way imitation approaches reality; 
the actor responds by absorbing every element, condition, or 
circumstance, in order to make his body warm or cold, as 
the case may be. \ 

Every electrician is in possession of his cue, knows the 
story of the play, and is made to calculate the emotional 
requirements in terms of his switchboard. He is no machine, 
no mere feeder of the stage with light. The human tempo 
of the situation pulses in his veins; he lowers or raises his 
levers until every blemish is removed. There must be no 
blotch, no streaks, for the lights should glide; sharp edges 
should be made to blend. 

In that rehearsal for lights, the manager must consider 
the balance of white surface and shadow. A glint is thrown 
on a ribbon, a bit of lace, a bare arm or neck; this must be 
balanced by the absence of light somewhere else. The 
switchboard must have a tempo regulated to accord with the 
beat of emotion. Not only that, but the light is guided by 
the color of a costume, toned to contrast with other dresses 
possibly; even the hair limits the intensity of light, and if 
the features of an actor are strong, a strong current upon the 



128 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

face would only serve to reveal a "war map" of lines. A 
white light brings disillusionment in its path. 

Rehearsal is a matter of constant shifting* a thousand and 
one directions are given which never find their way on the 
prompter's script of the play. "I think I'll make that so 
and so," says the Stage Manager, and the Carpenter looks 
askance at the Electrician, while the Scene Painter goes 
back to his pots and brushes, to try again some perspective 
cliff or shore. "I not only want a moon, but a Japanese 
moon," cried Mr. Belasco during a rehearsal of "The Darling 
of the Gods.'' 

In the matter of the switchboard, Mr. Belasco stands in 
a new light. He is not the conventional stage manager; he 
is a lover of nature, having felt the close of day on the plains, 
and seen the first streak of dawn in Italy. He has been an 
investigator of all phases of the physical as well as of the 
emotional. He is not merely satisfied with reaching the eye, 
but he must strike the heart; his lights are always acces- 
sories; they are made to reinforce or to counteract; they 
must serve a purpose, otherwise be discarded. At times he 
places too much dependence upon such effect; we feel it in 
the way he "plays up" a brunette or blonde, working his 
lights to show her to the best advantage. But in the ma- 
jority of cases, his results are artistic rather than theatrical. 

From one of the iron bridges in the flies, flung far above the 
proscenium arch on the side, the stage presents to view every 
point of vantage. The five sets of border lights, consisting of 
two hundred and seventy lamps as an average, the three banks of 
bulbs in the" foots," ^ the fight strips ready to be placed in any 
wing, the baby lenses to counteract any false reflection of the 
"foots" when shadow is thrown on the face at inopportune 
moments, the large lenses on the bridges, the lamps centred 

1 Mr. Belasco is now experimenting to do away with the " foots." 



DAVID BELASCO 129 

on particular stage accessories, the stereopticon for cloud 
effects during a storm or sun or moonlight, — with these the 
electrician, at the final rehearsal, has "fixed" his diagram, 
which he has by him for the first few regular performances. 

Amber, blue, red, and white are the general colors in use 
on the stage, besides the direct flow of lime-light. But not 
always will the standard color do ; then the electrician mixes 
his own stain and dips the incandescent bulb therein. The 
hard problem for him to consider is not how to reach the 
proper light out of darkness; it were easy thus to obtain a 
realistic sun. But the difficult matter is to have the sun come 
after the appearance of a gray dawn; in other words, to ob- 
tain light effects out of light. 

The psychology of the switchboard is largely the problem 
of counteracting shadows, of bringing emotion into high 
light. That is why the old idea that tragedy must be given 
the tragic tone is an exploded theory, since contrast, rather 
than agreement, is the electrician's asset. Death lurks in 
the sunlight as well as in the shadow. Was it not in Forbes 
Robertson's "Hamlet" that Ophelia came broken-minded 
into an orchard pink with the touch of Spring? 

There is not an inch of surface on the stage that cannot 
be subjected to a flood of light which may be softened or 
intensified slowly by means of simplicity dimmers, — devices 
even more responsive than the cock of a gas jet. So impor- 
tant a matter is the switchboard, that a portable one, in no 
way as extensive as the stationary one, is carried on the road 
as an important part of the play's emotional effect. 

In "The Rose of the Rancho," during the course of the 
first scene, with the sun beating down on the Mission garden, 
with the Padre asleep on his vine-covered porch, the elec- 
trician is busy at the switch. Some lenses are focussed for 
light, others for shadow, amber is thrown upon the gate, 
straw medium paints the orange tree. A rose bush must 



130 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

have a special ray upon it, while the arbor, and certain roses, 
must catch the glint of sunlight. One lens strikes the foun- 
tain, centred on the stage, coloring the stone seat upon which 
Juanita flirts with Kearney. All the while the baby lens 
is kept busy spotting the chief actors on the stage. 

The significant part of psychology as applied to stage 
lighting is that in the highest perfection of its handling it 
is never fixed, particularly in plays dependent upon special 
atmosphere. If the sunlight strikes the broad front of the 
Mission steeple at the top, the same intensity hardly suffices 
to flood the entire building. As the play progresses, the day 
progresses, and the lights vary; these changes occur in 
accordance with the electrician's cues. The siesta hoiu* of 
this first act approaches the eventide, and Juanita falls deeper 
in love with the "Gringo," Kearney, as the shadows grow 
more and more. Thus the "light plot" reads: 

"At cue: 'Meet me at my posada,' change lenses Nos. 
7, 5, 3 on lower bridge to light amber, also lens on upper 
bridge R., and lenses on stage R. 3E.; also lens back stage 
on bridge L., and the four open boxes in 3. Put on 1st border 
blue to f and 2d, 3d, and 4th borders red to full; take down 
whites to J. " 

This shorthand notation is indicative of mechanical re- 
sponse; levers are handled like the shift-key of a typewriter, 
banks of lights are interlocked, so as to respond to one force 
at the same time. Then comes Kearney's caressing words: 
"Let me hold your little brown hand in mine." Many 
the lovers who have strayed in a garden of roses during the 
gathering twilight which creeps upon them! But here on 
the stage there must be a "change of all lenses on bridges 
and open boxes to red, except the two on bridge left, which go 
to salmon; take down foots to |, and amber borders to J; 
also dim the tubular lamps on window and arbor R. " 

All the time the scene grows darker; the lamp on the rose 



DAVID BELASCO 131 

bush is blinded, the fountain is cast in shadow, the belfry is 
made misty, while the blues begin to mingle with the reds 
for evening. 

Finally, there is uttered Juanita's cry of love as Kearney 
leaves her, determined on saving her property from the land- 
grabbers, looting California. Hence, at cue, "Oh, Gringo, 
why did you come?" 

"Slowly pass amber color over baby lens in 1 R. (This 
lamp is on Juanita at the time; the color is just passed over 
the lamp and taken off again while the line is spoken.) At 
same cue, take off both lamps in flies, L. 1 E. This light 
stands till end of act." 

Here one has suggested only a fractional part of the me- 
chanics behind the stage — the psychology of the switchboard, 
which is only effective when employed with reticence, 
with reason, with intelligent understanding, with feeling. 
There is the cartoon use of light as seen in the spotter lime- 
streak following the clown in the circus; there is the melo- 
dramatic use of light, noted in the splotch of green thrown 
upon the face of Mansfield while he changed from Jekyll to 
Hyde. But the artist at the switchboard is a believer in 
the minor notes as the best notes, and, as regards Mr. Bel- 
asco's management, it might be truly claimed, he does not 
act without reason. He has often said he does not believe 
in dragging in sound simply for the sake of sound; a wise 
principle to uphold, even if it is not always followed. 

"The Rose of the Rancho" serves our purpose for illus- 
trating the psychology of the switchboard, because its 
atmosphere involves constantly shifting light; any one of 
Mr. Belasco's plays largely depends upon accessory of this 
character, and upon the mechanics demanding constant 
attention. In the third act of this California romance, we 
are given a dark stage creeping to full light: reds and blues 
which succumb to early dawn ambers. The scene is on the 



132 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

roof, Kearney waiting for the day. From the main switch 
the electrician is working his "dimmers" slowly; some 
clusters of blue — for instance — must take a generous ten 
minutes to gain full intensity. Here and there on the stage 
"boards," at places known as pockets, which are merely 
indicated spots where light plugs may be inserted, a con- 
necting link is to be had between a lamp and the main cur- 
rent. The electrician can only manage the general circuit 
of "foots" and "borders" and house lights; he has assist- 
ants who are drilled by him to work the separate lanterns 
from the wings and the bridges. Every movement of the 
persons on that supposed roof is attended by a correspond- 
ing balance of incandescence. 

The ordinary dress-suit, drawing-room comedy has a 
fixed light which does not concern itself greatly with the 
switchboard. But whenever the latter is used, when the 
light values are supposed to move for the sake of theatrical 
effects so broad as to hide physiological consistency, then 
the lack of taste is felt as well as seen. There is certain to 
be incongruity of color, and also streaks of light, ill -con- 
cealed, if concealed at all, by the lanterns which, in the hands 
of the thinking mechanic, usually absorb and blend when 
necessary. We once had a production of "A Midsummer 
Night's Dream," more Edison than Shakespeare, more 
mechanical device than Puck, more accessory than art. On 
the other hand, Forbes Robertson^s desert scene in Shaw's 
"chronicle" play, where Coesar first glimpses Cleopatra in 
the arms of the Sphinx, was made spacious merely through 
the varying of blue shadows on an almost empty stage, with 
a back-drop of endless sky. 

We are on the road to a great revolution in the pyschology 
of the switchboard. Ever since Garrick brought with him 
from France the footlight which replaced the ancient chan- 
delier, we have been studying how to rid ourselves of it; 



DAVID BELASCO 133 

we have a right to discard anything, to introduce any device 
which will suit our purpose, and still retain the object of 
illusion while enriching the picture. No one has yet estab- 
lished sufficiently well the arguments for abandoning foot- 
lights. There have recently been added to the mechanics of 
stagecraft those electrical accessories which will facilitate 
the subtle effects of shade and tint. 

One sympathizes with the son of Ellen Terry, yet every- 
body interested in the stage as a civic necessity on one hand, 
and as an artistic need on the other, will agree that Gordon 
Craig in "The Art of the Theatre" has carried his theories 
of stage management a step too far, even as Maeterlinck 
first did, in formulating his principles for the static drama, 
in claiming for puppet plays substance rather than shadow. 
No theatre man will deny that Craig's designs of scenes, so 
shaded as to secure bos relief without "foots," are excellent 
where the relief is needed. No manager is wholly oblivious 
to the fact that though drama is essentially action, it is also 
picture, where every line of the scene in its relation with the 
size and color of the players, where every position, — all mean 
relative grouping, fixed for balance and perspective. Miss 
Terry's scenic background for Ibsen's "The Vikings at 
Helgeland " adequately fulfilled the theory. Let the theatre 
become a masterpiece of mechanism, with a technique pecu- 
liar to itself, with a director above scene painter, actor, play- 
wright, himself more creative than all three put together, — 
let this bring us a dramatic renaissance, and one will scarce 
need a written story to compass a plot so quickly flashed 
upon the mind in light, song, dance, and pantomime. 

Many of Mr. Belasco's plays, as plays, are lacking in the 
qualities which his scenic artistry for the moment supplies. 
"The Girl of the Golden West" is an excellent example 
of such. The moving scene down the mountainside to the 
door of the saloon does succeed marvelously in taking one 



/■ 



134 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

out of the street and away from the city. On the other hand, 
the moving-picture concerns, which to-day threaten the 
theatre, might well point to this scene as a legitimate excuse 
for their existence. 

But that Mr. Belasco, with his scenery and with his stage 
business, is inventive, becomes evident in any of his plays. 
Take " The Rose of the Rancho," where Juanita and Kearney 
are seated by the well; the lover moves nearer and nearer, 
whereupon she seizes the gourd and throws v/ater on the 
seat between them — a stroke of business worth a page of 
dialogue. Take " The Warrens of Virginia" — after the war, 
the Southern General is dozing in his garden; for the space 
of a second, one hears the sigh of the wind, the spectral roll 
of drums, the spirit breathing of the bugles — and he wakens 
— all done with the deft modulation which might have been 
turned into bathos by the slightest over-accentuation. The 
manager is thus painting for others. 

These are the qualities marking David Belasco, which 
represent his place in American drama. He is the creative 
manager who writes his plays by acting them; who, faced 
by two stenographers, evolves his characters and situations 
in actual movement, now thinking of a speech which he pins 
up somewhere for his last act, again jotting down some busi- 
ness, some note about this act or that, but always moving 
surely toward the completion of the first draft, so as to begin 
rehearsals. Were some of his plays published just as they 
are typewritten for the stage, they would be invaluable texts 
for the amateur playwright; they would point to the plati- 
tudinous but none the less absolute fact that the theatre, 
taken as a whole, demands that the playwright must be 
master of more than one set of tools. 




Photo, by WTiite 



Henry C. De Mille 



CHAPTER VIII 

THE CASE OF PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 

Not only has the drama an historical evolution, but, Hke 
any other human activity, it is subject to inherited traits, 
and is influenced by the spirit of the age. Ibsen believed in 
the theory of imbibing the thoughts that were in the air, 
rather than in limiting those thoughts by an amount of 
contradictory reading. There is no doubt, for instance, 
that through Mr. Carnegie's gift of ten millions of dol- 
lars for the furtherance of peace, many more people will be 
forced to think seriously on the subject, and already there 
is as much discussion about who will write the great peace 
drama, as about who will be the great American dramatist. 

Subtle forces mould a man, but also evident circum- 
stances. In "Famous Actor-Families in America," I sug- 
gested the possibilities of applying Galton's law of inheri- 
tance to the material I had gathered from various sources. 
The method might likewise serve as a measure in deter- 
mining how far Henry De Mille's career prompted his son, 
William, to follow the same bent, and in tracing those 
speculative characteristics of Steele Mackaye which are 
now evident in his son, Percy. Sons of fathers who hold 
positions in a profession are most likely to continue in that 
profession, but whereas young De Mille, furthered by 
Belasco, uses the theatre more as a business than as an art, 
young Mackaye is prone to forget the theatre in a commend- 
able, but over-serious, attitude toward art. 



136 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The theatre has always been subject to attack; it has 
always been threatened by poor quality and plethoric 
quantity. Young De Mille takes things as he finds them, 
making a reporter's use of a certain dramatic abihty; young 
Mackaye is more morose than rebellious over the theatre, 
about which he speculates in ideal fashion. But, never- 
theless, these men either have to conform to the conventions 
of the time and to the interests of the period, or else submit 
to the relentless verdict of the people. 

In the days when the Madison Square Theatre, in West 
Twenty-fourth Street, New York, was the center of theatri- 
cal interest, and when the Mallory Brothers combined this 
business with that of issuing The Churchman, which still 
survives as a religious weekly, theatre managers were read- 
ing their own plays. Daly always gave personal attention 
to the manuscripts sent him. Palmer announced openly 
that he was not favorable to the native playwright. But, 
to judge by the personal note-book of Henry De Mille, who 
read plays with the assistance of Daniel Frohman, Franklin 
Sargent, and David Belasco, the manuscripts continued to 
flow into the office of the little playhouse. In three months, 
during 1883, some two hundred dramas by Americans were 
read, and the possible subjects were never accepted without 
material alteration. When Bronson Howard's "Young 
Mrs. Winthrop" was in preparation, it was rewritten in 
accordance with a multitude of suggestions, and was then 
handed over to Belasco, who had already evinced his re- 
markable gift for certain phases of stage management. The 
theatre of that day knew what it wanted, and the play- 
wright was whipped into shape. The current papers were 
then as persistent in their attack upon the insipidity of 
the Madison Square drama, as critics are to-day upon the 
pornographic literature which passes for virile thinking. 

I believe that both young De Mille and young Mackaye 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 137 

have an advantage in this race for dramatic honors; it 
remains to be seen whether they will profit by the past his- 
tory of the theatre. Their fathers were writing at a time 
when their contemporaries in dramatic authorship were 
Bronson Howard, Bartley Campbell, George Jessop, Fred 
Marsden, A. C. Gunter, Fred Maeder, James J. McClosky, 
A. R. Cazauran, Edward Harrigan, and H. G. Carleton. 
WilHam De Mille is greatly in advance of that period, as 
far as methods and interests are concerned; he is one of the 
numberless newspaper men who is content with effective 
incident, and he leaves speculation alone. In " Strongheart," 
which had a slight problem of Indian blood in it, he failed 
to do what he wished above all else to do; he originally 
intended to consider the theme inadequately treated by 
Edward Sheldon in "The Nigger " (1910). There is nothing 
pioneer, or even largely stimulating in young De Mille. 

Percy Mackaye is of a different stature; he comes out 
of the past into the present, and his ear and heart have 
caught certain phrases which remind him of the Golden 
Age of Greece. De Mille shook from him the cap and gown 
of Columbia University; Mackaye walks in the shadow of 
Harvard, with an academic command of literature, and with 
a poetic gift which is not spontaneous, though it be elab- 
orate and earnestly used. Being a poet, we must compare him 
with poets. 

There is more hope for him than for Stephen Phillips, 
who has steadily declined in effectiveness since writing 
"Herod." They both are wedded to the past. Phillips 
gave us a Francesca, Mackaye a Jeanne D'Arc; Phillips 
wrote in the face of Goethe's "Faust," Mackaye in the face 
of Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales." PhilHps turned to 
Ulysses, Mackaye to Sappho and Phaon. In other words, 
being poets who are using the theatre as a means of poetic 
communication, rather than as a high end in itself, they 



138 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

largely adhere to the Shakespeare precedent of finding 
inspiration for their plots outside of their native imagina- 
tions. Unlike John Masefield, whose "Pompey the Great" 
is a rewriting of history, and is tinged through and through 
with broad and colorful expressions of democratic strength, 
they unfold their dialogue in lines of haunting beauty but 
of reminiscent measure. 

Yet Mr. Mackaye possesses a humor which is totally 
lacking in Phillips, a perspective of the present which allows 
of such sparkling cynicism as one detects in "Mater'' and 
"Anti-Matrimony," even if it is not sufficiently analyzed 
to make him an invigorating critic of life, civic and personal. 

He is a poet who has "murmurs and scents of the in- 
finite seas," without any deep knowledge of the forces 
of existence. Stephen Phillips utters haunting lines of pure, 
sensuous beauty; Mackaye writes lines of equal beauty, but 
lacking in that simple, lyric passion which makes " Francesca 
da Rimini" so delicate. It strikes me that Mr. Mackaye 
as a poet is only a vehicle for unformed and inadequately 
founded social views. He has poetic quality rather than 
the abiding strength of the true poet. Occasion has done 
much to shape his course from the very day that his father 
locked him, a sixteen-year-old boy, in a room and told him 
to write a Storm Choral for a Columbian Exposition spec- 
tacular, before he could come out.^ 

1 Percy Mackaye was born in New York, March 16, 1875. He 
took a Bachelor of Arts degree at Harvard in 1897. He is the author 
of "A Garland to Sylvia," written while he was in Europe. He 
matriculated at the University of Leipzig, and his studies there 
partly resulted in the writing of ''Fenris the Wolf" (1905). "The 
Canterbury Pilgrims" (prose) was published in 1903, "Jeanne 
D'Arc" in 1906; "Sappho and Phaon" in 1907. "The Scarecrow " 
(1908), "Mater" (1908), "Anti-Matrimony " (1910), and " Thorough- 
breds" (1911) are among his other pieces. 

Among his produced plays, "Jeanne D'Arc" (1906) was mounted 
by Sothern and Marlowe, Bertha Kalich appeared in "Sappho and 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 139 

The theatre critic has from generation to generation 
deplored the fast decading drama, and has vainly searched 
for the art spot in the chaos of commercialism on which 
to rest his hopes and to raise his temple. Traveling through 
the slough, confident of a bright to-morrow, keen to the 
civic necessity of the play, Mr. Mackaye is searching for 
the art centre. He is intensely earnest, and the persistent 
questions in his prose work, which follow one after the 
other in logical order, point to undoubted weaknesses in 
the present theatrical system. But deep conviction on 
his part, however to be welcomed, does not result in a con- 
viction on our part that endowment on the one hand is the 
only way to free the theatre of present methods, or that 
endowment on the other will create a better type of drama, 
especially of the poetic drama. 

Mr.Mackaye's "The Playhouse and the Play" (1909) is a 
small volume of lectures which have been delivered before uni- 
versity bodies, and which are now slightly added to, but 
still unchanged as to intimate and personal style. The eye 
is immediately caught by the frequency of italicized lines; 
these might be taken as the measure of Mr. Mackaye's 
argument. The scope is purely local, except where the 
author's culture seeks to connect the present with Greek 
civilization. The book is idealistic, not soundly philosophic 
— idealism based on practical knowledge as a producing 
playwright. In the building of a civic theatre for the people, 
in the fitting of the drama to become a vehicle for the ideals 
of democracy, to clear the theatrical field of its present 
business standards is only one phase in the education of 

Phaon" (1907), Henrietta Crosman in "Anti-Matrimony" (1910). 
Both "Mater" (1908) and "The Scarecrow" (1911) have likewise 
been given. 

Mr. Mackaye has written many occasional poems and has pub- 
lished a book of essays on the theatre, besides a prose version of 
Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales " (1904). 



140 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

dramatic taste. I cannot see that divorcing art from money 
will immediately improve art or better the supply and de- 
mand — although it will clear the theatre atmosphere. 
Any one at all versed in things of the stage will note the con- 
sistency of Mr. Mackaye's "Law of Deterioration," based 
on such self-evident facts as the preponderance of the emo- 
tional demand over the intellectual, brought about by the 
antagonism between the rational aim of theatrical business 
and the rational aim of democratic art. Henry Arthur 
Jones established this condition more fully in his essay: 
" Our Modern Drama — Is It an Art or an Amusement? " 

It is true that what the drama needs is to be subjected to 
an atmosphere of artistic rather than of business compe- 
tition. Yet one might justly fear that the removal of the 
restraining hand of "profit and loss" would largely afford 
added hope to the dilettante, to the disappointed play- 
wright. No suggestion has been offered as to whether or 
not there would be competent people to run the theatre, 
or where and how the theatre-goers would receive the edu- 
cation which would make them prefer Charles Rann Ken- 
nedy's "The Winterfeast" to comic opera, or Mr. Mackaye's 
"Mater" to vaudeville. We all deplore the benumbing 
hand of commercialism, recognizing that business methods, 
nevertheless, have raised the status of an actor from that 
of vagahondia to that of professionalism, but it all depends 
on what we mean by absolute freedom in the theatre to 
convince us as to whether absolute endowment will hasten 
the desired goal. 

In his lectures on "The Drama of Democracy" and "The 
Dramatist as Citizen," Mr. Mackaye is most suggestive; 
if nothing else, his book will provoke discussion, and in my 
opinion that is what he wishes, for he is the dramatist be- 
neath it all. The dissemination of whatever seeds of art 
may be in the American people through channels of least 




Percy INIacKaye and Charles Rann Kennedy " 

Taken in the Bohemian Club's Redwood Grove, California, August, 1908 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 141 

richness has bhghted the product. There is the fine art 
for the few, and the vaudeville for the crowd. Conditions 
are chiefly responsible for the absence of evidences pointing 
to a fine art for the many, in other words — to a drama of 
democracy. Mr. Mackaye has the evil well indicated here; 
the poet in him feels the pulse of the people. He writes: 
*'The status of the playhouse in society is as vital as the 
status of the university in society. The dignity and effi- 
ciency of the one demand the same safeguard against in- 
ward deterioration as the dignity and efiiciency of the 
other. The functions of both are educative." 

Young Mackaye sincerely desires to be a citizen, but his 
social philosophy is weak and his historical perspective is 
not sufficiently defined to lend authority to the definitions 
he frames or to the strictures he utters in his numerous 
lectures and talks. From his father he has learned the use 
of a certain largeness of scene; from the present he has 
drawn a certain restlessness and shapeless idealism which are 
waiting for systematizing. But he has not found himself, 
and the reason lies, not in the theatrical conditions which 
surround him, but in the inheritance and the tradition which 
are his — the inheritance of his father, and the tradition of 
Harvard University. 

James Steele Mackaye was born in Buffalo during 1844, 
and at the age of seven moved to New York. His father 
was a man of some means, who had a home just outside of 
Buffalo, known as Castle Mackaye; while his grandfather, a 
Scotchman of sturdy build, wore the cloth, and died at the 
advanced age of one hundred and twenty, boasting of hav- 
ing lived one hundred years in the same parish. 

The move to New York w^as due to legal connections of 
Mackaye's father, who likewise, as a man of affairs, once 
held the position of president of the Western Union Telegraph 
Company. It was not until he went to Paris, at the age of 



142 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

sixteen, that Steele turned his attention to the stage, and 
even then there was no opportunity to gratify his interest 
practically. At eighteen he came back to America, where 
for sixteen months he served in the army as a member of 
the Seventh Regiment. Reaching the age of twenty-two, 
and still intent on the stage, he procured a small engage- 
ment at the Old Bowery Theatre in New York, but soon 
after was sent abroad as an agent for buying pictures. Once 
more in Paris, he haunted the studios and the theatres, and 
chance took him in the path of Fran9ois Delsarte, who recog- 
nized in him a startling likeness to his dead son, and who 
took him under his tutelage. 

From now on, and for many years to come, Mackaye was 
to be an exponent of principles in acting which subdued the 
old-time ranting, and aimed at the reproduction of natural 
movement, and of what the papers of the time called " emo- 
tionally gentle manner." So closely did the youthful actor 
identify himself with the methods of his teacher, that he 
was known in the papers as "Delsarte Mackaye"; but no 
amount of ridicule could deter him from his set purpose. 
Later in life, Mackaye wrote: 

" A man to be a true actor must not only possess the power 
to portray vividly the emotions which in any given situation 
would be natural to himself, but he must study the char- 
acter of the man whom he impersonates, and then act as 
that man would act in a like situation. This is what Del- 
sarte taught and what Rachel, Sontag, and Calvalho studied 
with him." 

During 1874, Mackaye lectured extensively on the Del- 
sarte system, speaking of the occult nature of emotion; of 
the science of expression, illustrated by pantomime; of the 
necessity for aesthetic gymnastics, illustrated by chromatic 
scales of emotion in the face and figure. 

At that time there was something more or less theoretical 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 143 

in such a method; people were regarded as poseurs who 
adopted it. Hence it was that Mackaye was spoken of as 
a speculative dreamer. It is true that throughout Hfe 
people said of him that his crude idealism was due to de- 
fects in his education; his fancies forced him into many 
experiments which could not possibly find practical ful- 
filment. But nevertheless, he was of a serious turn of mind, 
and of an experimental nature, and these characteristics com- 
bined to give him a distinct streak of philosophical specu- 
lation, which is detected in his utterances upon sesthetics. 

When Delsarte found himself in the midst of the Franco- 
Prussian war, Mackaye was traveling in Switzerland (July, 
1870); and on his return to America, hearing that his old 
friend was in a destitute condition, he immediately arranged 
for a lecture at Harvard University, the proceeds from which 
— amounting to ten thousand francs — were sent to Del- 
sarte. The latter died in 1871, bequeathing to his pupil 
many unpublished manuscripts. There is no discounting 
Mackaye's enthusiasm over the Delsarte principles; his 
interest was not only deep, but his execution vivid, so much 
so that Forrest, listening to him, jumped up in that im- 
petuous manner of his, and exclaimed: "By G — d, my 
noble boy, you have let in a flood of light!" Not only did 
he establish a school of acting which should uphold French 
naturalism, but his first venture in the theatrical field, the 
St. James Theatre, which opened in January, 1872, was 
popularly spoken of as the Delsarte house. 

At the very outset it is well to emphasize the theatrical 
rashness of Mackaye and the philosophic severity of his 
criticism; it is well to note that his theory of acting affected 
his work, making it self-conscious; while his tendency to 
experiment made him limit or expand his ideas in mathe- 
matical ratio. A man of many failures, he was yet the fore- 
runner of diverse excellent theatrical innovations. His 



144 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

double stage for the Madison Square Theatre was not as 
perfect as the revolving platform at the New Theatre, but 
the principle of usefulness was practically the same. His 
Spectatorium may have fallen into ruins, carrying with it 
a fortune and the health of its conceiver, but it foreshadowed 
the modern Hippodrome. He never profited by failure, and 
his enthusiasm always made him forgetful of the fact that 
finance requires practical guarantee. Yet no man of the 
time, unless it was Henry De Mille, had better opportunity 
than he to know the physical features of the theatre. 

His career as actor opened in 1872, when he appeared 
in "Monaldi," a Venetian story of the seventeenth century, 
based on Washington Allston's novel. His pale, classic 
features, his aquiline nose, his sensitive mouth, his intel- 
lectual and quiet expression, all tended to mark this tall, 
slender, and graceful man with distinction. I have before 
me a clipping which conveys an impression of Mackaye's 
nature beneath the practice of his Delsarte methods: "If 
he were paralyzed from the neck down, he could express 
more with his face than nine-tenths of justly celebrated 
actors could with all the appliances which nature and art 
have given them. His speechlessness is as crammed with 
expression as a thunder-cloud with electricity." There were 
stirring within him many conflicting interests; the author, 
actor, and lecturer did not meet on common ground. During 
part of 1872, Mackaye was in Paris, studying with Regnier, 
while in the winter of that year he remained in England, 
meeting Charles Reade, Wilkie Collins, and Tom Taylor. 
With the latter he was led into further experiment, collabo- 
rating in the writing of such plays as "A Radical Fool," "Clan- 
carty," and **Arkwright's Wife." At this time, also, he was 
prompted to dramatize George Eliot's "Silas Marner"; 
the matter went as far as his meeting the novelist, but at 
the crucial point; Lewes, "the dragon," stepped in and put 




Photo, by barony 



Aet. 35 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 145 

a stop to further negotiations. It was in the Spring of this 
year that Tom Taylor successfully urged Mackaye to ap- 
pear as Hamlet, bringing to his interpretation all the origi- 
nality of the Delsarte method (May 5, 1872). An edition of 
the play was issued with notes, and with indication of new 
stage business. 

Evidently Mackaye was encouraged by his start, for I 
have the record of a booklet, printed in 1872 while he was 
in Paris, presenting "Extracts from the Press in Reference 
to the Three Months' Dramatic Season of James Steele 
Mackaye in New York City, from January 8 to April 1, 
1872." During that period, Nym Crinkle appears to have 
come to his rescue, while he was being attacked for his 
persistency in the Delsarte methods. This was the season 
of the St. James Theatre, where, on February 1, 1872, 
Mackaye's "Marriage,'' an adaptation of Octave Feuillet's 
"Julie," was given a hearing. 

Mackaye's novitiate in the art of playwriting was spent 
in collaboration and in adaptation, two of the dominant 
tendencies of the day. Not only this, but the men associated 
with the Madison Square Theatre reinforced the ideas 
presented by others. Being actors as well as writers, they 
knew wherein weak situations might be bettered. So that 
Mackaye's list of plays, while pointing to technical activity, 
does not impress one with any striking originality. Here 
again we find the man meeting with success, yet not suffi- 
ciently concentrated to be more than of temporary influence. 
As an author, he is to be credited with the following: 

"Marriage" (1872); "Arkwright's Wife" (1873); "Clan- 
carty" (1874, with Taylor); "Rose Michel" (1875, collabo- 
ration); "Queen and Woman" (1876, adaptation from 
Victor Hugo, with G. V. Pritchard); "Won at Last" (1877); 
"Through the Dark" (1878); "An Iron Will" (1879, later 
" Hazel Kirke," 1880) ; ''A Fool's Errand " (1881, adaptation) ; 



146 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

"Dakolar" (1884); "In Spite of All" (1885); "Rienzi" 
(1886, rewritten for Barrett); "Anarchy" (1887); "A 
Noble Rogue" (1888; also "Money Mad," modeled on 
the style of Hugo's "Jean Val jean"); "Paul Kauvar" (known 
as "Anarchy"). 

The majority of these plays contained melodrama com- 
mon to that period. It was a period when the physical 
outlines of the theatre were materially changing; when the 
old gas-jets, laboriously turned on at each performance, 
were now on the eve of being simultaneously ignited by an 
electric spark; when Ogden Doremus was experimenting 
with asbestos curtains, to give fireproof protection to the 
theatre; when Mackaye himself was designing orchestra 
chairs. It was the later day of the Boucicault drama, which 
had made demands upon the scenic pictures, introducing 
physical details that were regarded as marvelous. It was 
the time of Kate Claxton, Ida Vernon, Clara Morris, Mon- 
tague, Gilbert, Holland, and Ponisi. 

Mackaye fell readily into the atmosphere; he imbibed 
much of the Boucicault technique, without its flexibility, 
without its humor, without its easy grace and cheerfulness. 
And yet he was not considered a conservative; on the con- 
trary, the papers regarded him very much as a defier of 
tradition, especially in comparison with Wallack and Daly. 
He was only rash, however, in the outward scope of the 
theatre; for his plays are constructed along conventional 
lines, with an emotionalism either akin to Boucicault or 
to Dumas' "Camille." 

The five acts of "Won at Last" are epitomized graphically 
in the program as: "Act I, Ashes; Act II, Embers; Act 
III, Fixe; Act IV, Flame; Act V, Fireside." " Hazel Kirke," 
which was first presented in 1879 under the title of "The 
Iron Will," bears all the characteristics of the romantic and 
melodramatic school of Boucicault. Indeed, critics never 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 147 

let Mackaye alone about the reminiscent touches to be found 
in his dramas. Earnest though he always was, and however 
high his ideals, he could not escape the sensationalism of 
Tennyson's and Charles Reade's "Dora"; of "Amy Rob- 
sart," and of " Rose Michel," which he helped to adapt. 

Mackaye and De Mille were a great part of the force of 
the little Madison Square Theatre — a theatre whose greatest 
thorns seem to have been the Rev. Dr. G. S. Mallory and 
Marshall Mallory. They were astute business men, and 
understood how to obtain the best of any bargain. When 
Mackaye went to them, the understanding was that he was 
to relinquish all patents and copyrights for the period of 
ten years, and that he was to have five thousand dollars 
and profits under certain conditions. But the contract was 
not definite enough; on either side it might be disturbed at 
will. "Hazel Kirke" ran for nearly five hundred nights, 
with Mackaye every now and then assuming the role of 
Dunstan, but whenever the Mallorys had the suspicion that 
they were losing money, it was a signal for them to try to 
revoke their contracts. In fact, the theatre of that day was 
not so good as the theatre of the present. Boucicault w^as 
continually involved in litigation, and all dramatists had 
their successes pirated on every occasion. In 1881, accord- 
ing to one authority, four companies were enjoined for 
playing distorted versions of "Hazel Kirke." 

However much Mackaye may have had the correct idea 
regarding the close treatment of drama, it was only in the 
expansiveness of outward detail that he dared depart from 
the conventional structure. No man realized more philo- 
sophically than he that a good play must contain some deep 
knowledge of human nature, some wide experience of life, 
and some surety in dealing with the craft of the stage. And 
he drew from himself and his own ambition, when he stated 
the requisites of a dramatist to be: 



148 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

"Mechanical instinct, poetic fancy, sensitive sympathies, 
passionate fervor and vivid imagination, thoroughness in 
preparation, industry in elaboration, conscience in revision, 
courage in excision, and dominating all this, that breadth 
of mind which breeds humility, and that depth of heart 
whose understanding love goes out in charity to all mankind." 

But though he would have had the process so, plays of 
the Daly period were not evolved; they were not intensive. 
Realism was just beginning to modify the romantic glow of 
"The Two Orphans" and "The Lady of Lyons," while it 
could hardly be claimed that violent action had been suc- 
ceeded by rational themes. What Mackaye called "the 
focal purpose" of a play had not departed from French models 
or from French emotionalism. Howard, Belasco, De Mille, 
and Mackaye all came under its spell, the latter speculating 
upon a way of escape. "The master playwright," so he 
said, "combines the constructive faculty of the mechanic, 
and the analytical mind of a philosopher, with the aesthetic 
instinct of a poet, and the ethical ardor of an apostle." 

There is no doubting the truth that Mackaye was serious- 
minded; in fact, he was continually active, a peculiar com- 
bination of a Swedenborgian, a theatrical Edison, and an 
undisciplined reader of Tyndall, Huxley, and Spencer. His 
interests lay between religion and civil engineering; he was 
diversely equipped, and a specialist only in what actual 
experience had taught him. But he never heeded experience 
for long, preferring to follow his imagination and his invent- 
iveness. Like all dramatists, he was alive to the moment, 
and when, in 1887, his "Paul Kauvar" was presented, con- 
taining all the earmarks of its kind in flimsy sentiment, 
verboseness, and theatrical effect, he nevertheless claimed him- 
self to be deeply concerned in the problem of "anarchy," 
under which name the play was first known. 

Notwithstanding the fact that the papers called "Paul 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 149 

Kauvar" "tumultuous and declamatory/* and critics saw 
in it imitations of Bulwer, the play attracted wide attention, 
since there was beneath it a slight tinge of contemporaneous- 
ness, despite its Red Terror atmosphere. For Mackaye, 
being convinced that demagogues were spreading a spirit of 
anarchy among the masses, determined to show wherein 
tyranny was unjust, in the hopes of counteracting a revo- 
lutionary spirit which he felt existed among the people. To 
do this, he demanded a large spectacle, which drew from Nym 
Crinkle the remarks: "Mr. Steele Mackaj'-e, whatever else 
he may be, is not a 'lisping hawthorn bud.' He doesn't 
embroider such napkins as the 'Abbe Constantin,' and he 
can't arrange such waxworks as 'Elaine.' He can't stereo- 
scope an emotion, but he can incarnate it if you give him 
people enough." 

The play was doubtless the outcome of certain ideas which 
were in the air. It was the old cry which was raised in re- 
gard to the influx of emigrants whose excessive poverty, 
together with the yoke of political oppression, drove them 
to the new country. But with them Mackaye felt that 
they brought certain foreign ideas which were inimical to the 
welfare of the American laborer. So it was that " Anarchy," 
besides being a melodramatic spectacular, was also a pur- 
pose play in the nev/spaper sense. In 1888, he wrote: 

" In the struggle between capital and labor in this country, 
the grasping spirit of corporations and the demoralizing 
influence of political corruption are constantly affording 
the demagogue or the dreamer, who has nothing to lose and 
everything to gain by the destruction of civil order, an op- 
portunity to preach anarchic doctrines with great plausibility. 
When I first discovered the large extent to which the pas- 
sions of the working classes were being played upon by the 
fine phrases of these insidious foes of the American Republic, 
I detennined tp investigate; ag carefully as qircumstance^ 



150 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

would permit, the means by which these foreign influences 
were seeking to achieve their diaboKc results in this country." 

After his dispute with the Mallorys, Mr. Mackaye went 
over to the Lyceum Theatre, on Fourth Avenue, which 
playhouse soon began to gain prestige under Daniel 
Frohman, and where E. H. Sothern was on the eve of 
large recognition. Mackaye's enthusiasm, his charm of 
manner and his grace, made him well liked, and he was 
much more at ease in private talk than in acting. He 
was a charming conversationalist, and possessed what 
critics called a mind " ratiocinative, not poetic." Inter- 
ested in painting, sculpture, teaching, managing, playwrit- 
ing and inventing, he lacked system; he was devoid of 
concentration. Philosophically, he was under the influence 
of the transcendentalists, and even the mystic touches 
in Delsarte bore evidences of Catholic symbolism. His 
language, outside his plays, was marked by metaphysical 
distinctions, seen, for instance, in an excellent letter sent to 
his son from Chicago, on December 15, 1893, in answer to 
Percy's objections to changes made in some chorals he had 
written. The statements show first of all a serious attitude 
toward all creative work, as well as a modesty which was no 
small part of his charm; they are likewise evidences of a 
speculativ3 mind which delighted in analyzing the absolute, 
the relative, and the conscious in terms of art. This 
is what he wished to do in his big Columbian spectacle 
prepared for his Spectatorium ; every detail of it was to have 
philosophical value; even the choruses were to be represen- 
tative of fine distinctions. 

He felt that Percy, at an early age, should have grasped 
this in the writing of the poetic tasks set before him. 

"Everything in the Cosmic order," he said, "is perfect 
or complete. When I speak of the Time ChoruSj I mean 
that which voices the accomplishment of the past. . . . The 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 151 

Past Time Chorus, philosophically, represents the real world, 
and the Future Time Clwrus represents the ideal world, 
while the Eternity Chorum represents the essential world — 
the world of principle or spirit. . . . The spirit of the whole 
is the perfect spirit — universal spirit — the divine spirit. 
The spirit of the past is the imperfect spirit and the de- 
moniac spirit." 

His distinctions of mortal and immortal consciousness 
clearly mark his scattered reading in metaphysical fields. 

We now reach the culmination of Mr. Mackaye's life, at 
the time of the Chicago Exposition of 1893. All his theatri- 
cal extravagance overflowed and ran riot in the Columbian 
Celebration Company, organized to exploit his Spectatorium, 
a building devised for his entertainment, which was called 
" Spectatorus." This was a combination of grand scenic dis- 
play with Oratorio, in which stage realism was to be carried 
to its highest perfection. It was to be a Hippodrome in 
size, with appliances of every conceivable power, so arranged 
as to create illusions of the noblest order. The stage, called 
a " Scenitorium", was to contain an immense reservoir for 
water effects, and around this were to be grouped Mac- 
kaye's remarkable inventions. 

It is not necessary to go into details regarding this mam- 
moth shell. In it were to be erected automatic combination 
stages, allowing of any variety of motions; wave-current 
makers, for the creation of currents of water which were to 
be regulated as to velocity and height; wind-current makers, 
so conceived as to create cyclone velocity from the gentlest 
breeze; weather-makers, for atmospheric effects, such as 
large rainbows; illuminoscopes, "by means of which the 
scope and character of the illumination of the scene can be 
instantly determined;" colorators, for tints according to 
the changing hours; nebulators, for cloud effects; and a 
luxauleator, which was to be a dazzling sheet of light to take 



152 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the place of a curtain. Examining the large scope of Mack- 
aye's idea, it is surprising how near he came to the concep- 
tion of a Hippodrome. He aimed at mechanical duplication 
of Nature; mechanical acceleration of mystery. The pro- 
duction in such a huge machinery was to be called a "Spec- 
tatorio," which was " a species of performance celebrating a 
theme which may be either historic, fabulous, or fanciful. It 
illustrates its subjects by great pictures — whose stories 
are told in pantomime, and whose sentimental, ethical, or 
ideal meaning is celebrated or interpreted by music." On 
one hand he had in mind the most extravagant display of 
Barnum; on the other he accepted as a model Cody's Wild 
West Show. Undoubtedly the educational vastness of such 
an enterprise met with some enthusiasm and support; prep- 
arations actually began for the mounting of "The Great 
Discovery," which was to epitomize the life of Columbus. 
The financial figures of returns were chimerical, with 
the seating capacity of over ten thousand people, and the 
other sources of income to cover the initial expenditure of 
nearly a million dollars. The structure was to have occu- 
pied the northeastern corner of Jackson Park. 

Any one in the theatre will understand that the very 
magnitude of the undertaking was enough to handicap 
business and to kill the man in control. Mackaye's whole 
nervous system went to pieces as he saw the money slipping 
from his hands. The Spectatorium was only a skeleton 
when the company went into the hands of a receiver because 
of depression in Wall Street. His brain teeming with projects, 
Mackaye was able, through a natural gift of persuasiveness, 
to carry any amount of enthusiasm. But now he was com- 
pletely broken in health. He was given a benefit which en- 
abled him to start on a trip to California, but on his way, 
while passing through Timpas, Colorado, he died aboard 
the train, on February 25, 1894. 



PERCY MACKAYE AND HIS FATHER 153 

In this career we find many evidences of the son, Percy, 
writer of dramas; of the son, James, instructor at Harvard, 
and author of a philosophical, sociological discussion of " The 
Economy of Happiness"; and of the son whose interest in 
nature is marked.^ The speculative tendency is in the 
Mackaye blood, and a staid seriousness. Yet Percy has a 
keen sense of humor which he realized in "Mater" and in 
"Anti-Matrimony," but sedulously governs because of his 
Harvard training. Steele Mackaye, in his experiments, 
foreshadowed the present possibilities of the mechanical 
stage; he would have been greater had he possessed re- 
straint. Curiously, his son, Percy, is handicapped by this 
very quality of restraint. 

1 There was also a son whose stage career was cut short. A 
daughter, Hazel, has been on the stage. Mrs. Steele Mackaye is 
the author of several dramatizations which have been published. 

The variety of Mr. Mackaye's work since 1910 is fairly well 
represented by the mention of the following: ''To-morrow" (1911); 
''Yankee Fantasies" (1912); "The Modern Reader's Chaucer" 
(1912); "Sanctuary: A Bird Masque" (1914); "A Thousand Years 
Ago" (1914); "St. Louis: A Masque" (1914); "The Immigrants" 
(1915); "Caliban" (1916); "Sinbad" (1917). His "Canterbury 
Pilgrims," set to music by Reginald de Koven, was produced during 
the season of 1916-17 by the Metropolitan Opera Company. His 
libretto, "Sinbad," has been set to music by Frederic S. Converse, 
but has not as yet been produced. He is also the author of a volume 
entitled "The Civic Theatre" (1912). 

Mr. Mackaye has also written a series of two articles on his father, 
entitled "Steele Mackaye, Dynamic Artist of the American Thea- 
tre," issued in The Drama, November, 1911, pp. 138-161, and Feb- 
ruary, 1912, pp. 153-173. As yet no definitive edition of Steele 
Mackaye's plays has been issued, but his "Hazel Kirke" is included 
in A, H. Quinn's "Representative American Plays," and his "Paul 
Kauvar" in M. J. Moses's "Representative Dramas by American 
Dramatists," Vol. III. 



CHAPTER IX 

THE CARDBOARD PLAY AND THE WELL-MADE PLAY: 
AUGUSTUS THOMAS AND WILLIAM GILLETTE 

I 

There is no strict grievance against the outward excellence 
of the cardboard play. It is planned according to the latest 
devices, and its structure is pleasing to the eye. Yet it is 
like a house untenanted, like a shell without the kernel. 

It is of the utmost importance that drama be externalized, 
that its scenes be proportioned and in good taste. But this 
does not mean that the yard-stick measurements of the 
average manager are sufficient to guarantee a success in 
his theatre. Every play is subjected to the same processes 
of preparation; the extravaganza as v/ell as the problem 
drama has its scene and its costume; and every play, what- 
ever its scope or character, has to be rehearsed. 

In mounting a comic opera, the stage manager is chiefly 
concerned with pleasing the eye; the attention is here 
carried in channels of least mental exertion. In the final 
analysis of any effect created in this manner, audiences 
feel that they have been cheated, since the light and paint 
of the stage are only accessories, veritable appetizers for the 
imagination, and do not take the place of nature. The 
Rosalind of the boards lacks the fresh youth of the Rosalind 
of the greensward. 

On the other hand, in mounting a straight drama, with 
any serious undercurrent of motive, it is incumbent upon 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 155 

the stage manager to be particular about harmonizing scene 
with idea. He leaves this to his working staff, more than 
likely, thoroughly content if, during rehearsal, he detects any 
variety of design, any new effect of novel action. A theatre 
man once said to me, not realizing the poignant truth of 
his statement: " I hear with my eyes, and see with my ears." 

It is not an easy matter to balance consistency with action, 
and it is well-nigh impossible for the dramatist, if he be 
lacking in psychological situation, to insert it after his play 
is written; he is continually forced to recast his dialogue so 
as to make possible certain motives and certain actions. 

From the moment a dramatic author conceives his plot, 
to the first night, he travels the long road of preparation; 
considering how long, it is a wonder that more plays are not 
silently withdrawn before they are publicly condemned. 
But the theatrical manager finds himself economically in 
the position of a landlord whose houses have to be filled, and 
the danger of the situation lies in the fact that he has more 
comfortable theatres than he has deserving dramas. That 
is why he leans so heavily upon the cardboard play. If it 
is weak on the first night, it may be bolstered up the next 
morning. The manager and author have had time to watch 
the effect of scenes and of bits of dialogue upon the people. 
The "prompt copy" of every play contains marks indicating 
where those "in front" laughed, where they cried, where 
they were confused. And then the play is touched up, cut 
here, or shifted and heightened there. I remember hearing 
Augustus Thomas, during the second night of " Mrs. Leffing- 
welFs Boots," make plans to change certain spots that did 
not seem quite "to get over the foots." 

The true dramatic author is always thoroughly alive to 
the surroundings of his play, to the precise atmosphere of 
his scene. While he leaves it to the art of the stage carpenter 
and of the scene painter to perfect his mental picture in 



156 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

projection, nevertheless, in the writing of his play the 
dramatist allows atmosphere to affect his dialogue as well 
as his action. 

Not only details of furnitm-e, of dress, of architecture, 
decorate the moment in the story, but each object of external 
position measures the temperament and the personality 
of the character, or group of characters, approaching the 
climax of the particular incident in life called a drama. 

Clyde Fitch read me the script of "The City," and 
in describing to me the locale, he indicated how the trees 
were placed on the lawn of the country house; he saw plainly 
the living-room in which the tragedy of the first act was to 
take place. The ground-plan of the entire play was as real 
as though he had himself lived with his people. To him 
the essential fact was that his family, which he had chosen 
for "The City," could not possibly live in any other kind 
of house. He had his scene built, he selected his furniture, 
he clothed his actors, to satisfy his sense of environment. 

It is evident, therefore, that the first two things to be 
done, after a play is chosen for production, are to have the 
stage director make sketches of the scene, while the dram- 
atist — if he be well known — or the stage manager, begins 
to "cast" the characters. Mr. Fitch always personally 
superintended these details. Compare a preparatory sketch 
of scenes for "The Music Master" with the scene finally 
adopted, after Mr. Belasco's practical alterations. That 
which was taken from the original sketch had to be dis- 
carded for purposes of stagecraft. Nothing is done toward 
actually building the scenery for a play until the sketches 
have been approved, and until the "model" has been con- 
structed. Then the carpenter and painter are allowed to 
begin their work. 

The preliminary drawings made for a production include 
costume sketches of varied design and color. Even as an 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 157 

artist or a sculptor makes diverse outlines of arms, and 
eyes, and noses, so the costumer prepares " boot plots,'* " fan 
plots," and studies out carefully, if his play calls for archaic 
setting, every detail relating to the dress of his period. 

From an orchestra chair, one does not fully realize the 
amount of ingenuity required in preparing the cardboard 
surroundings for an historical, a fantastical, or a romantic 
play. Dances peculiar to locality, as in Mary Austin's 
"The Arrow Maker," or in Richard Walton TuUy's "The 
Rose of the Rancho," or in Victor Herbert's "Natoma," 
have to be worked out by diagram. Colors have to be massed 
and harmonized, and characters have to be kept within the 
tone of the picture. When large choruses are used, the care 
in such detail must be constant. The Hippodrome always 
makes use of immense ballets, where, if one but half close 
his eyes, blurring the individuals, a spectrum-scheme of the 
whole is observed. Masses of color are circulated in well- 
conceived, sinuous design — geometry turned into the poetry 
of motion. 

The cardboard aspects of a play are in the hands of four 
men: the scene painter, the stage carpenter, the electrician 
and the property man. Each at first does his work sepa- 
rately, but in such a way that when all come together, their 
"effects" dovetail. The mounting of a play is much like 
a cut-up puzzle; there is a very definite design somewhere, 
which the stage manager has in mind. Even in the acting of 
a play, rehearsals are conducted in fragments, the players go- 
ing off to odd corners of the room to discuss their " business," 
while others are doing a scene under the direct supervision 
of the dramatist. Mr. Fitch was an indefatigable worker 
at rehearsal; Mr. Thomas possesses the happy faculty of 
keeping the actors interested. 

The play is practically rehearsed by the time scenery 
and costumes are ready; the actors are "letter perfect," and 



158 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

are fairly familiar with the " properties " which they are 
going to use. Up to this time, the king has probably sat 
upon a kitchen chair for his throne; the princess has dropped 
upon the bare boards of the dusty stage for the greensward; 
while the retainers of the palace have had a veritable 
Belshazzar's feast, without even the assistance of papier 
mache venison. I attended several rehearsals of " Pelleas et 
Melisande," when Oscar Hammers tein was preparing 
Debussy's opera. In the balcony scene, Melisande, dressed 
in a street gown, with a toque, made believe she was 
shaking out her golden locks; while up an ordinary house 
ladder climbed the love-consumed Pelleas, in a brown frock 
coat and derby hat! It is at such moments that all arguments 
as to the need of scenery and costume are difficult to offset 
with any plea for not needing scenery at all. It has its legit- 
imate uses; its undoing is bad taste, which leads to repletion. 

The theatre people do not proceed blindly in their building 
of the cardboard play; while they are usually lavish in their 
scenic scope, they know what they want before they look 
for it; it may not be the right thing, or the most artistic 
thing, but it suits their limited purposes. They are quicker 
to discover a flaw in stage-setting than to question the in- 
tellectual value of their amusement; hence, their visual 
power far exceeds their critical judgment. They usually 
possess a "scenario" knowledge of the play, which they 
apply to their "stage model," in which draperies, furniture, 
ornaments, and those numberless details grouped under 
the name of "properties," are accurately placed. One can 
imagine the necessity for this doll house, this facsimile of 
the larger thing, this miniature theatre. But the mental 
measurement of the cardboard play goes no further, as far 
as the average manager is concerned. 

The perfection to which the cardboard play has been 
brought is at once its asset and its weakness. It is so easy 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 159 

to interest the eye with devices, that the manager has reached 
the point where he can disguise a threadbare plot beneath 
mechanical novelty. No criticism can be brought against 
the manager that he is miserly in his outlay for an "attrac- 
tion." Fortunes are spent every year in the cardboard 
houses, which amuse the eye but which bring no profit to 
the mind or imagination. To judge by the character of 
plays produced in a season, the professional "reader" for 
a theatre watches more for effect than for content. Depend- 
ence is placed, not so much on the dramatist as on the theatre 
staff of trained mechanics. The danger to the American 
playwright, which lurks in this dependence, is that he trans- 
fers his psychological values from character to scene. 

Undoubtedly there is art in the external drama, but its 
perfection is the danger we have to guard against. Com- 
mercialization will exist in this phase, just as long as the 
period of preparation is spent on "effect." For on the first 
night, with the scene set, the lights lit, the "properties" 
placed, and the actors at work, the manager is often forced 
to realize too late that he has no play. 



II 

Clyde Fitch possessed ingenuity; so does Augustus 
Thomas. Clyde Fitch depended very largely on external 
detail, as in "Girls"; Augustus Thomas piled up eccentric 
marks to such an extent in "The Other Girl" that persons 
w^ho did not know Broadway could not understand it. In 
" The City," Mr. Fitch proved, just before his death, that he 
could handle a powerful theme, however disagreeable; in 
"The Witching Hour" and subsequent dramas, Mr. Thomas 
clearly shov/s that the cardboard play is no longer sufficient 
to carry his new interests. 

Mr. Thomas' early pieces, "Alabama" (1891), "In 



160 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

'Mizzoura'" (1893), and "Arizona" (1900) dealt with a life 
which stirred with something more than smart-set witticism 
and city environment. Then followed a period when French 
technique gripped him, and he has never escaped his in- 
debtedness to the foreign facility for making conversation. 
His broad comedy period encouraged him to draw upon his 
newspaper observation, and to produce plays deliciously clever 
but effervescent. 

Most of his plots were fragile, slender threads of experience 
to carry his fine sense of humor. "Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots'* 
(1905) is an apt example of this. On the other hand, "The 
Earl of Pawtucket" (1903), a Dundreary and Chumley 
imitation, and "On the Quiet" (1901) proved to be farces 
of excellent pattern. Meeting success with the former, 
through the acting success of Lawrence D'Orsay, Thomas 
produced another play, "The Embassy Ball" (1905), scin- 
tillating but flimsy, a species of wit which in no way 
touched the heart, and unhappily distorted American 
types. 

Mr. Thomas has technique at his finger's end; he is a man 
of the world, with a reporter's instinct for timely interests. 
As all dramatists should be, he is thoroughly familiar with 
American life, and since his broad comedy period, his obser- 
vation and his thought have deepened. Born in St. Louis, 
Mo., on Januar^^ 8, 1859,^ he was public-school bred; became 
page-boy in Washington during the Forty-first Congress; 
studied law; became a writer and illustrator for such papers 
as the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the St. Louis Republic, the 
Kansas City Times, the Kansas City Mirror (1886), the 
Northwestern Miller, and the New York World. Six years 
were passed in the freight department of a railroad, and with 

1 See Dithmar, "Augustus Thomas," Bookbuyer, May, 1898, 
16:323; " Hoosier Doctor," Critic, ii. s., 27:286; " The Meddler," 
Critic, N. B., 30:297. 




Photo, by Schloss 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 161 

his knowledge of law he made ready to enter politics. His 
interest in the latter is constantly manifest. 

His debut as dramatist was made when, in 1887, he dram- 
atized Mrs. F. H. Burnett's "Editha's Burglar" and also 
acted in it. Before this, as early as sixteen, he wrote plays 
like "Alone" and "A Big Rise," for amateurs.^ 

Mr. Thomas is the author of tlu-ee plays that, while they 
show the technique for which he is justly noted, likewise 
sound an interest in telepathy. These are "The Witching 
Hour" (1908), a manuscript which he had held for ten years, 
until the time was opportune; "The Harvest Moon" (1909), 
and "As a Man Thinks" (1911). In "The Witching 
Hour " a psychology of suggestion, of intimidation, is devel- 
oped with more consistency and with equally as much dra- 
matic effectiveness as in Charles Klein's "The Third Degree." 
"The Harvest Moon," while not as interesting a plot, serves 
further to convince one of the belief in Thomas's sincere 
interest in subconscious effect. His science is rudimentary; 
his exposition such as a man who had seen these phenomena 
would describe them. But none the less are they interesting, 
and dramatically effective. Some may say that Mr. Thomas's 

1 A full list of Mr. Thomas's plays would include "A Man of 
the World" (1889); "Reckless Temple" (1890); ''Afterthoughts" 
(1890); dramatization of F. Hopkinson Smith's ''Colonel Carter 
of CartersviUe" (1892); "The Capitol" (1894); "New Blood" 
(1894); "The Man Upstairs" (1895); "The Overcoat" (1898); 
"The Hoosier Doctor" (1898); "The Meddler" (1898); "Oliver 
Goldsmith" (1900); "Colorado" (1901); "Soldiers of Fortune" 
(1902); "The Education of Mr. Pipp" (1903), based on Gibson's 
pictures; and "De Lancey" (1905). On a souvenir program for a 
special performance of "The Harvest Moon," given on Oct. 28, 
1909, for the Ancient Accepted Scottish Rite, of which Mr. Thomas 
is a member, I note these additional plays: "The Burglar," "A 
Night's Frolic," "A New Year's Call," "Surrender," "For Money," 
"A Proper Impropriety," "The Music Box," "Chimmie Fadden," 
"The Jucklins," "That Overcoat," "The Ranger." I have seen 
casual reference to "In Illinoy" and "Don't Tell Her Husband." 



162 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

attitude toward the theatre is unscholastic; but if we stop 
to think, the theatre is never scholastic; it rises upon the 
popular interests of the people. It is not necessary for a 
drama success to be literature. I remember Mr. Thomas 
summing up a few of his plays in this fashion: 

"'Alabama,' if it were produced now, would have no 
special audience or following. It came at a time, however, 
when the country was tired of sectional strife, and when it 
believed there should be a reconciliation. Colonel Henry 
Watterson said, in two public speeches, and also editorially, 
that up to the time of the production of * Alabama,' he had 
had no assistance of any kind to bring about this reconcil- 
iation between the sections, and that 'Alabama' did more 
in one night than he had been able to do in ten years. 

"'Arizona'," he continued, "was played just at the time 
of the Spanish War, and had to do with the raising of a 
volunteer regiment — young men going to the front. 

"'The Other Girl' was popular when the prize fighter 
was an idol in New York, just after the repeal of the Horton 
Law. * The Witching Hour ' is a seizure of the general atten- 
tion that is given to telepathy and allied topics. And under 
all that, lies my own theory, expressed on more than one 
occasion, that the theatre is a place for the visualizing of 
ideas — that the theatre is vital only when it is visualizing 
some idea then and at the time in the public mind. The 
theatre is a vital part of everyday life; it is an institution, 
and as an institution it has a claim upon the popular at- 
tention principally in that fact. When it becomes a thing 
preservative, a museum for certain literary forms, or a 
laboratory for galvanizing archaic ideas, it is almost use- 
less, and seldom successful as a business enterprise." 

In " As a Man Thinks," Mr. Thomas's vision is no longer 
fragmentary. Once he used to read his papers too assidu- 
ously, but now he has added to this a wider culture and a 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 163 

deeper understanding. The organic unity is purely intel- 
lectual, yet his dialogue is so excellently constructed that 
one does not realize how many problems he drops at will, 
attacking the next with equal vigor and freshness. The 
interesting point to note about Mr. Thomas's telepathic 
dramas is that he not alone states a problem; in addition, 
he assumes an attitude. This is why " As a Man Thinks " 
is invigorating. 

Where Mr. Thomas has grown is in the manifold variety 
of his statements; in the digested, rather than in the re- 
flected, opinions he expresses. "As a Man Thinks" should 
easily win its way on the Continent; by its French technique 
it should be an example to Henri Bernstein. But notwith- 
standing, it has, in its last act — which is a play in itself — 
what the American people epitomize as "uplift." The title 
of this play is simply a variation of the biblical phrasing, 
" As ye sow, so shall ye reap." The play itself has no single 
purpose, but on the other hand it has no indefinite suggest- 
iveness. 

Never has Mr. Thomas dipped his ladle into the crucible 
of life with more effect; never has he had surer grip of the 
handle. As a man thinks, so are his plays. There is every 
evidence in this latest one (1911) that Mr. Thomas is think- 
ing. And because of that, he has ceased placing so much 
dependence upon the cardboard house. His dramas are 
always well mounted; they always contain atmosphere in 
their scenes; they are always well dressed and well acted. 
But there is something beyond the witticism of lines in 
Thomas of the present period. He has the same brilliancy, 
but he also possesses dignity and seriousness. His next 
play may contain authority. That is the direction of his 
growth. 



164 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 



III 

William Gillette is another American dramatist who is 
master of the well-made play — a species that involves 
the cardboard characteristics used with reticence. He was 
born in Hartford, Conn., on July 24, 1855,^ his family lineage 
comprising many noted names. His father was at one time 
United States Senator and a man of keen intellect; among 
his relatives he counts Henry Ward Beecher and Charles 
Dudley Warner. Young Gillette's education was carefully 
conducted. It seems that as far back as nursery days, the 
boy owned his miniature theatre, and was quick in his me- 
chanical inventions. Thus equipped, Gillette, as early as 
1877, had received a certain amount of theatrical training. 

It is the primary object of every dramatist to amuse an 
audience. It is the primary object of every audience to seek 
amusement. But there are standards of pleasure as there 
are standards of morality, and we have to question our right 
to enjoy, as we question our right to live. Amusement 
varies with the type of play, and this type varies with the 
grade of playhouse. 

Now, it is the primary object of William Gillette to amuse, 
and every audience that he draws is given healthy amuse^ 
ment. His standard of pleasure is simple: to hold the 
attention by appealing to a childlike thirst in all of us for 
a story and for excitement. His types of play are so varied 
that we find different pleasure in "The Private Secretary" 
from that in "Secret Service." Only once did Mr. Gillette 
approach a problem; that was in "The Admirable Crichton" 
which J. M. Barrie wrote. As a dramatist himself, Mr. 

^ The Green Room Book states 1856. He was educated at Yale 
and Harvard, and the Massachusetts Fine Arts Institute. He made 
his first appearance as an actor in 1875. In 1881, he wrote "The 
Professor." 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 165 

Gillette has never had any other purpose than to amuse; and he 
has reached his effects through farce and melodrama. These 
two elements have been raised to the highest grade through 
superlative workmanship; they have been found appropriate 
for the best audiences because of the stage management 
and the peculiarly individualistic acting of Mr. Gillette. 
"Sherlock Holmes" (1899) is example of a rousing melo- 
drama, constructed in harmony with his method of acting. 

Joseph Jefferson once said that he had no set ambition 
to uplift the stage, and in consequence his memory is sweet 
rather than invigorating. William Gillette has claimed 
that he cares nothing for critical theories; that when he 
has reached the heart of the masses, he knows he is right. 
He does not seek to prove any problem. But as a dramatist, 
he has been able to demonstrate that neither farce nor 
melodrama needs to sacrifice the essential qualities of 
humanity. 

In " The Private Secretary " there is a lovable atmosphere 
surrounding the diffident minister, no matter how ridicu- 
lous the positions in which he is placed. Throughout " Sher- 
lock Holmes," the great detective and Dr. Watson are 
forceful characters, apart from the situations of force through 
which they make their appeal. There is no doubt in my 
mind as to how much of this is due to William Gillette, 
the actor. These roles, which have made his stage career, 
have themselves been made by his method of acting — tense, 
mostly silent, persistently dominant, and, as Norman Hap- 
good once wrote, deeply theatrical and stealthy. Upon 
the stage he is quiet, slow, dignified; his style is one of 
nervous repression, of dry humor that is incisive and subtle. 
Such slowness, in the midst of rapid action, of tense situ- 
ation, is peculiar to this actor alone. 

Mr. Gillette has written many plays since he began his 
career as dramatist in 188L There were divers failures 



166 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

between successes; his last indiscretion — "Electricity" 
(1910) — aiming to be a vehicle for so slight an actress as 
Marie Doro, was totally lacking in brilliancy or in deftness 
of workmanship; it was nothing more nor less than a card- 
board play of the commercial type. 

With the aid of Mrs. F. H. Burnett, beginning as Thomas 
began, he wrote "Esmeralda" in 1881;^ he adapted "Digby's 
Secretary" from the German (1884), and "She" from Rider 
Haggard's novel (1887). From the French and German 
he took many situations. But he could so transmute ideas 
as to make "Because She Loved Him So" (1899) and "Sher- 
lock Holmes" essentially his own, even though the former 
was taken from the French, and the latter from Sir Conan 
Doyle's stories. Some say even that " The Private Secretary " 
lurks on the German stage. As examples of his own origi- 
nality, therefore, we have to turn to " Held by the Enemy " 
(1886), "Too Much Johnson" (1894), "Secret Service" 
(1896), and "Clarice" (1905). 

There is no system in Gillette, the dramatist; in this re- 
spect he is much more difficult to characterize than as an 
actor. For if we say that his dramas represent "well-made" 
plays, we attribute to them an artificiality which is usually 
attributable to Scribe. Were I to measure the dramatist 
by " The Private Secretary," I should claim that while it was 
loosely strung and faithfully modelled along conventional lines 
of farce, at least it was excellently illustrative of the genre. 
Were I to measure him by " Held by the Enemy," I should 
call it typical melodrama, which had just failed in its aim for 
consistency and truth, even though it foreshadowed a better 

1 Among other plays by Mr. Gillette, may be mentioned "A 
Legal Wreck" (1888); "All the Comforts of Home" (1890, from 
the German); "Mr. WiUdnson's Widows" (1891); "Settled Out 
of Court" (1892, from the French); "Ninety Days" (1893). He 
also wrote a one-act piece, "The Painful Predicament of Sherlock 
Holmes" (1905). 




Photo, by Frank IFarner 



William Gillette 



THOMAS AND GILLETTE 167 

drama and reflected in the war correspondent something 
of the "Private Secretary." "Secret Service" has all the 
tone and color of Southern feeling during the Civil War; 
atmospherically it holds all the stress and strain. South- 
erners, treasuring memories of the sectional struggle, have 
succumbed to its appeal. Mr. Heme's "Griffith Davenport" 
alone can be compared with it; by its side, Bronson How- 
ard's "Shenandoah" is stagey. 

In these sophisticated days, audiences are looking for 
motives, for powerful scenes, for emotional psychology. 
From the motive standpoint, Mr. Gillette might have been 
led to write a play of purpose, after appearing in "The 
Admirable Crichton" — one of the most delightful of 
speculative satires. But he was content to amuse himself 
with the character of the Butler, a role which fitted exactly 
into the eccentricities of Mr. Gillette, the actor. Once 
he allowed himself to stretch beyond his limitations, and 
in his own adaptation of Bernstein's "Samson," he entered 
the realm of emotion. But he is distinctively unemotional. 
Even in simple love scenes, such as one finds in "Secret 
Service" and in "Clarice," he makes appeal through the 
sentiment of situation, through the exquisite sensitiveness 
of outward detail, rather than through romantic attitude 
and heart fervor. 

It has gone against the grain for Mr. Gillette to be purpose- 
ful; one would think that this might lead to his being pro- 
Hfic. But Mr. Gillette is the most cautious of dramatists. 
Fundamentally, he is right regarding his belief that audiences 
wish to be amused. Life has enough worries without going 
to the theatre to be worried. Therefore, he turns on green 
Hghts in "Sherlock Holmes" — the same green lights that 
illuminate the page of "Ragged Dick" — and people who 
have patronized Ibsen's "The Wild Duck" and "Rosmers- 
holm," sit enthralled. He dramatizes a cigar in "Secret 



168 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Service" and in "Sherlock Holmes/' using it also to effect 
in Barrie's "The Admirable Crichton." As a dramatist, 
Mr. Gillette has done much to prove the legitimacy of 
melodrama; he has demonstrated that violence alone in art 
separates Broadway from the Bowery. 

Mr. Gillette and Mr. Thomas are the only ones of our 
living dramatists who have successfully demonstrated that 
the cardboard play does not have to be shallow; that it is, 
in fact, a virtue when its organism is understood and is not 
over-worked. For no matter how subtle an idea, the play 
is a concrete thing. 

The following plays by William Gillette, in order of appearance, 
have been issued by Samuel French in French's ''Standard Library 
Edition of Plays": "Held by the Enemy," "Secret Service," "Too 
Much Johnson." " Electricity " was published in The Drama for No- 
vember, 1913, preceded by an essay on Gillette's work by Professor 
Richard Burton. 

"Secret Service" is included in A. H. Quinn's "Representative 
American Plays," and in synopsis is issued in J. A. Pierce's "The 
Masterpieces of Modern Drama." 

A most valuable contribution to the literature of the stage is 
Mr. Gillette's paper on "The Illusion of the First Time in Acting," 
introduced with a brilliant foreword by Mr, George Arliss, and 
both published by the Dramatic Museum of Columbia University. 
Mr. Gillette is represented in Clark's "The British and American 
Drama of To-day." 

The following plays by Augustus Thomas, each prefaced by the 
author, have been issued in Samuel French's "Standard Liljrary 
Edition," given in the order of their publication: "The Witching 
Hour," "In Mizzoura," "Mrs. Leffingwell's Boots," "Oliver Gold- 
smith," "The Harvest Moon," "The Other Girl," "The Earl of 
Pawtucket," "The Capitol." "As a Man Thinks" was published 
in 1911 by Duffield & Co. 

For other separate issues of Mr. Thomas's plays, see "The Witch- 
ing Hour," in Dickinson's "Chief Contemporary Dramatists," 
and in A. H. Quinn's "Representative American Plays"; this play 
is likewise given in synopsis in "The Masterpieces of Modern 
Drama," edited by J. A. Pierce. "In Mizzoura" is included in 
Vol. Ill of "Representative Dramas by American Dramatists," 
edited by M. J. Moses. 



CHAPTER X 

CONCERNING CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 

There are three important elements involved in the writ- 
ing of a play: the sense of situation, the sense of character- 
ization, and the sense of dialogue. If regarded in the light 
of recent stagecraft, it will be seen that no matter what 
the type of play may be, no matter what the problem of the 
play may be, the infinite ramifications found in a perfectly 
constructed drama are usually gathered together under 
these three fundamental heads. Our American dramatist 
has to a very commendable and remarkable degree mastered 
within recent years two of these characteristics. Living 
in an atmosphere where situation dominates every corner 
of our national existence, it is not strange that his eye should 
be trained to catch the essentials of the moment. This quick- 
ness on his part is due not only to inherited tendencies, but 
to training as well. 

Moreover, being particularly keen as to the how and the 
ivherefore, rather than the why, the American is prone to draw 
from national existence that which he asks for, and to re- 
ceive answer from his fellows according to the value, the 
force of the question he puts. This modus operandi con- 
stitutes the distinct school of training in which our American 
playwright has thus far been educated. 

Let us consider for a moment the statement made before, 
that among our younger men who are essaying the dramatic 
form as a means of expression, the larger number have been 



170 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

at some period of their careers engaged in newspaper report- 
ing. What bearing has this fact upon their workmanship? 
First, it has required of the reporter, who is after daily oc- 
currences, to grasp the essential points in a story, to make 
use only of those factors which will picturesquely represent 
in a rapid fashion the progress of a tragedy or the narration 
of a situation. The reporter is furthermore required to sense 
this situation with his eye; his style must be shaped so as 
to depict that process of visual motion. Color and action 
are his goal. The error of his way lies in his absolute ignor- 
ing of the logical sequence of events on one hand, and in his 
failure to recognize the difference between relative and true 
proportion on the other. Not so very long ago, in conver- 
sation with Augustus Thomas, I was not surprised to find 
him confessing that to his newspaper experience he owes 
his success as a writer of dialogue. To his way of thinking, 
the value of an interview rests in the dexterity with which 
the incisive, the irresistible, the compelling question is put. 
What, after all, is drama but the interchange of just this kind 
of talk? 

In England, Pinero is one of the prolific writers of plays. 
I have elsewhere called attention to the fact that had not 
the dramatic instinct been uppermost, Pinero would have 
been a novelist; and this same statement is true of Clyde 
Fitch. The man who has the ability to tell a story, and to 
tell it in an easy, interesting fashion, possesses the art of 
the narrator. But if in addition he sees the story in action, 
he is somehow forced to tell it in accordance with the form 
which action demands. In other words, whenever the novel- 
ist introduces into his book an active interchange of person- 
ality with personality, he is compelled to use the very form 
that distinguishes drama; that is, dialogue. The playwright 
translates life wholly in terms of action, in terms of con- 
versation, in terms of situation. His idea must almost 



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Photo, by Sarony 



Clyde Fitch 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 171 

invariably be involved closely with the effects of this idea 
on the characters of his play, and on the development of the 
plot of his play. This is not saying, in reference to novel 
writing, that we may cut the dialogue from a book, and piece 
it together, thus making a play. This method has been the 
cause of so many failures consequent upon the hasty dram- 
atization of novels. The essential structure of each form is 
different, and it is this difference in the framework of these 
two forms of art that made Arthur Wing Pinero in London 
and Clyde Fitch in New York, dramatists rather than novel- 
ists. 

The latter was comparatively a young man at the time 
of his death, yet the body of his work — which never showed 
abatement in its increasing proportions — is so large as to 
overcloud by its very profuseness the pleasing qualities 
which it assuredly has.^ The gift of writing dialogue easily, 

1 Mr. Fitch was bom at Elmira, New York, May'2, 1865; educated 
at Amherst College; wrote the following plays: "Beau Brummel"* 
(1890); "Betty's Finish" (1890); "Frederic Lemaitre" (1890); 
"A Modern Match" (1891, subsequently played as "Marriage"); 
"Pamela's Prodigy" (1891); "The Masked Ball," from the French 
(1892); "The Harvest" (1893, which play, in one act, was pre- 
sented by the Society of Arts and Letters) [the plot was afterwards 
used in "The Moth and the Flame"]; "A Shattered Idol," from 
the French (1893); "The American Duchess," from the French 
(1893); "The Social Swim" (1893); "Mrs. Grundy, Jun.," from 
the French (1894); "His Grace de Grammont" (1894); "April 
Weather" (1894); "Mistress Betty" (1895, subsequently revised 
and produced in 1905 as "The Toast of the Town"t); "Gos- 
sip," with Leo Ditrichstein (1895); "Bohemia," from the French 
(1896); "The Liar," from the French (1896); "A Superfluous 
Husband," with Leo Ditrichstein (1897); "Nathan Hale"* (1898); 
"The Moth and the Flame" (1898); "The Head of the Family," 
from the German, with Leo Ditrichstein (1898); "The Cowboy 
and the Lady" (1899); "Barbara Frietchie"* (1899); "Sapho," 
from the French (1900); "The Climbers "f (1900); ."Captain Jinks 
of the Horse Marines"* (1901); "Lover's Lane" (1901); "The 
Last of the Dandies" (1901); "The Way of the World" (1901); 
"The Girl and the Judge" (1901); "The Marriage Game," from 



172 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the excellent distinction of being endowed with a prolific, 
inventive talent, are sometimes dangerous, even though 
they may be fortunate qualities to own. If the dramatist 
working at high speed would only take time to realize that 
his rapidity of execution is due solely to his employment 
of only two out of the three elements underlying all drama, 
the net result of his product would be of more permanent 
value, because he would then become aware of the fact that 
he is not making full use of the third element. The idea in a 
drama is the vital spot in its construction. 

From the time that Mr. Fitch graduated from Amherst 
College, he was actively engaged with his pen, beginning 
by writing lighter verse, and also by working out some prose 
sketches which cannot be termed fiction in the true sense of 
the word. "The Knighting of the Twins, and Ten Other 
Tales" (1891),^ is now little known though it contains most 
charming delineations of child life. To the student of Mr. 

the French (1901); "The Stubbornness of Geraldine"t (1902); 
"The Girl with the Green Eyes"t (1902); "The Frisky Mrs. 
Johnson," from the French (1903); "The Bird in the Cage" (1903); 
"Algy" (1903); "Her Own Way"t (1903); "Glad of It" (1903); 
"Major Andre" (1903); "The Coronet of a Duchess" (1904); 
"Granny" (1904); "Cousin Billy" (1904); "The Woman in the 
Case" (1904); "Her Great Match" (1905); "Wolfville" (1905); 
"The Girl Who Has Everything" (1906); "Toddles," from the 
French (1906); "The House of Mirth," with Mrs. Wharton (1908); 
"The Truth" (1906); "The Straight Road" (1906); "Her Sister" 
(1907); "The Blue Mouse," adapted from the German (1908); 
"Girls" (1908); "A Happy Marriage" (1909); "The Bachelor" 
(1909); "The City" (1910). Mr. Fitch died at Chalons-sur-Marne, 
September 4, 1909. A gossipy account of "The Clyde Fitch I 
Knew" has been published by Archie Bell. Its chief excellence lies 
in a few flashes of Mr. Fitch's vivacious personality and in the 
chronology of his work. 

The plays marked thus (*) have been published; those marked 
thus (t) belong to an excellent inexpensive series of Mr. Fitch's 
plays which the Macmillan Company issued. 
1 Republished (1911). 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 173 

Fitch's dramas they suggest those main characteristics of his 
own attitude toward Hfe and the conditions of life which 
dominated most of his later stage work. For by temperament 
Mr. Fitch was a sentimentalist, and because of temperament 
he viewed the details of environment in their bearing upon 
feeling. 

Mr. Fitch was, to a certain degree, also a realist, if by 
realism we mean the handling of everyday occurrences and 
of the famihar natural problems of existence; but his real- 
istic data was usually subjected to a high light of what at 
one moment we might term German romanticism and at 
another moment French sentimentalism. Much as quite 
a few of his plays have been discussed from the standpoint of 
their feminine suggestiveness and from the standpoint of 
their feminine sensuous interests, in point of morality Mr. 
Fitch was wholly conventional. His cleverness in over- 
coming this conventional tendency rested on his theatrical 
employment of the unusual. In other words, in point of 
visual sense, Mr. Fitch's observation of little things was 
about as sane as that of any other living dramatist, his fault 
being that he failed to bring his minute observation in re- 
lation with any large, vital, or sustained idea. 

In 1897, Mr. Fitch published a little volume entitled " The 
Smart Set : Correspondence & Conversations." It is an- 
other example of the insistent dramatist who obtrudes himself 
over and above the story-teller in the writing of a book. It 
contains the attitude of the dialogue, and so we may claim 
that Mr. Fitch was a born playwright, in the double sense 
that in expressing himself he perforce had to use dialogue, 
and in viewing life he invariably felt compelled to estimate 
it in terms of situation. His undoing was that he lacked 
the consuming idea. 

As far as dramatic belief is concerned, Mr. Fitch was 
thoroughly sincere. He lived up to his convictions as to 



174 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

what drama should be in general, and he expressed his con- 
victions in the following terms : 

" I feel myself very strongly the particular value — a 
value which, rightly or wrongly, I can't help feeling inesti- 
mable — in a modern play, of reflecting absolutely and truth- 
fully the hfe and environment about us; every class, every 
kind, every emotion, every motive, every occupation, every 
business, every idleness! Never was life so varied, so com- 
plex. . . . Take what strikes you most, in the hope it will 
interest others; take what suits you most to do — what 
perhaps you can do best, and then do it better. Be truthful, 
and then nothing can be too big, nothing should be too 
small, so long as it is here and there. ... If you inculcate an 
idea in your play, so much the better for your play and for 
you and for your audience. In fact, there is small hope for 
your play as a play, if you have not some idea in it, some- 
where and somehow, even if it is hidden. It is sometimes 
better for you if it is hidden, but it must of course be integral. 
. . . One should write what one sees, but observe under 
the surface. It is a mistake to look at the reflection of the 
sky in the water of theatrical convention; instead, look up 
and into the sky of real life itself." 

This quotation contains the essence of Mr. Fitch's attitude 
toward life. It shows him prone to place idea throughout 
his work in a secondary position, and he thus unconsciously 
became a very true critic of himself. For he was given to 
infuse into his picturesque entertainments some small sem- 
blance of ideas, which, while not seemingly vital, were so 
commonplace as to have intimate connection with the human 
side of his audiences. " The Climbers," " The Girl with the 
Green Eyes," "The Girl and the Judge," "Her Own Way," 
— each of these contains an element of live meaning, 
apart from the mere interest of story or attractiveness 
of scene; and this very presence of a suggestion of the 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 175 

vital spark in drama is what made one most regretful re- 
garding Mr. Fitch as a dramatist. For he had that within 
him, out of which worthy dramatic literature might have 
been evolved. 

The general impression was that he did not make good, 
for the very reason that his ideas never seemed to arrive. 
That he was not consciously imitative of foreign models is 
observable by the fact that whenever he attempted to ab- 
sorb foreign situations, whenever he adapted French pieces, 
such as "Sapho," those qualities for which he might be 
justly praised were either corrupted or wholly absent from 
the scene. But Mr. Fitch was not indifferent to foreign 
activity, especially as manifest in the modern French dramas. 
Curiously, he welcomed in them just those large and sig- 
nificant characteristics which, had he possessed them, would 
have placed him in the front ranks of the progressive dra- 
matic movement. He once said: "No one at the present 
moment is getting the essence of his environment in thought, 
word, and deed, as Hervieu, Lavedan, Donnay, Capus: 
Capus with the idea for the basic principle, the idea serious; 
Lavedan and Donnay, the idea social; Capus all sorts of 
ideas together, any old idea so long as it is always life — 
especially the life superficial, with the undercurrent really 
kept under." 

Our American dramatist has, during the past decade, 
developed within himself a tremendous sense of locality. This 
is very natural, considering his keenness of observation. 
But he has not yet sufficiently balanced this observation 
with an intellectual perspective of those characteristics which 
go to make the nation. We could more readily describe 
Mr. Fitch by saying that he was a typical New York dram- 
atist, than a typical American dramatist; for the conventions 
running through his plays are those of a society which is 
common to New York City. Even in his scenic indications. 



176 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

he preferred to appeal to the local sense of New Yorkers. His 
" Major Andre," played at the Savoy Theatre, was supposed 
to have taken place in an old colonial residence situated 
exactly on the spot occupied by the Savoy Theatre itself. 
His " Glad of It" had one act behind the scenes of the Savoy 
Theatre. His " Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines" opened 
on the docks of the Cunard Steamship Company. The last 
two acts of " The Truth " were laid in a Harlem flat. " Girls " 
was filled with allusions to apartment life in New York, which 
only New Yorkers could fully appreciate. 

This local sense is most likely to be encouraged in those 
dramatists who have gained experience through newspaper 
reporting. Mr. Thomas confesses that when he began to 
write for the stage, he mentally divided the country into 
various sections for his own purposes. He did this by cen- 
tring his attention upon the social position women occupied 
in the North, South, East, and West, and he states the case 
thus : " In the South the unwritten law and the spotlessness 
of a woman's reputation are the first items, as they are the 
last. In the middle West they are not so punctilious; and 
in the far West, where the scarcity of the article raises its 
price, a woman's position is not prohibitive, if, after ac- 
cepting a man's name and his protection, she runs straight 
and is true. In the North we have commenced to accept the 
English idea of compensation and consideration for services 
to the husband where a wife has been seduced." Whether 
Mr. Thomas actually did regard the country from this 
standpoint must be supported by careful examination of 
his plays, but we believe that this statement of his is more 
closely applicable to Mr. Fitch's own consideration of the 
sex problem. His plays were avowedly romantic, their 
psychology mostly commonplace and healthy. It was dis- 
tinctively the psychology of the story-teller, and in in- 
stances was not only cleverly, but realistically, portrayed. 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 177 

For instance, ''The Girl with the Green Eyes" is a close, 
persistent analysis of jealousy. 

Mr. Fitch attempted nearly every form of drama. His 
character studies, such as those typified by " Beau Brummel" 
— written in conjunction with Mr. Mansfield, — " Frederic 
Lemaitre," and "His Grace de Grammont," reveal a 
delicacy and deftness which, although lacking in virility, 
constitute, none the less, miniatures of a notable order. He 
attempted war drama in his "Nathan Hale" and "Barbara 
Frietchie," but they may be described as war dramas with 
the war left out. He wrote straight comedies as Vv ell as farces ; 
and in the realm of melodrama, such a piece as " The Woman 
in the Case" might be taken as a typical example. 

The interest of Mr. Fitch usually centred upon the femi- 
nine side of his play. No writer for the stage had a keener 
sense of changing styles and foibles than he. Oftentimes his 
weakness lay in his too great dependence upon the novelty 
or familiarity of detail. He wrote so many pieces with these 
characteristics, that we were never startled by Mr. Fitch's 
inventive powers. Before going to see a new piece, we were 
almost sure of finding certain familiar features which belonged 
to no one else but him. Our curiosity was piqued, but 
so distinctly did we imagine that we knew the flavor of Mr. 
Fitch's atmosphere, that unless he gave us that flavor we 
left the theatre disappointed. We can say of " The Climbers," 
for example, that through the customary method Mr. Fitch 
employed, his public was willing to find amusement in the 
first act of a play which opened in a house of mourning a 
short while after the burial service had been performed. 
In " The Stubbornness of Geraldine," which in point of love 
interest is as typically German as "Her Great Match," 
the cleverness of representing the deck of one of our large 
ocean liners was legitimately entertaining. 

But the Fitch flavor, which was so familiar to theatre- 



178 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

goers, and which might almost be said to have become 
crystaUized, created in the forty or fifty plays, which are to 
his credit, a level of cleverness above which very few of the 
pieces stand out. Nearly all of his plays bore a close relation- 
ship, one with the other. His heroines were mostly of the 
same romantic type, his heroes had the same polished daring. 
It is a mistaken idea that there are but few ways in drama 
of creating humor. We may no doubt reduce an analysis 
of humor to a certain number of elements, but the combi- 
nations of those elements are infinite. The fault with Mr. 
Fitch's humor rested in the fact that he was prone to use 
the same combinations over and over again. I would say 
of him that his grasp of the life and manners of New York, 
from earliest times, was more intimate than that possessed 
by any other dramatist or writer of the day. Because of 
this grasp, he was able to play with details, to contrast the 
past with the present, to create his humor by means of this 
balance of the past with the present. Take, for example, 
"Captain Jinks of the Horse Marines." The references to 
Hoboken made by Madame Trentoni are put from the stand- 
point of those early times, rather than from the standpoint 
of to-day. Should one read the diaries of Tyrone Power, 
the grandfather of the present actor of that name, he would 
find the same characteristic innuendoes that sound humor- 
ous to us to-day, simply because they — while not wholly 
true of the Hoboken of the present — have, nevertheless, an 
element of truth in them. 

Mr. Fitch created humor, likewise, by a method of com- 
paring material advance. When Madame Trentoni comes 
down the gang-plank and meets the New York newspaper 
reporters, she is enthusiastic about the quickness of the 
trip over — something like fourteen days — and the reporters 
boast that in time to come they will even be able to make 
it in ten days. In view of the Lusitania, one cannot help 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 179 

but smile! And this was the deftness of Mr. Fitch at full 
play. Take away from him those characteristics that were 
known as the Fitch qualities, and which might be termed 
superficial qualities if they were not truthful reproductions 
— however they might be superficial — and the remaining 
chtiracteristics would indicate his limitations. 

The comedy of manners is not only a legitimate form of 
dramatic art, but it is also one of the hardest forms to make 
vital. "The School for Scandal" has persisted from gener- 
ation to generation, not because of its story, not because 
of its reflection of eighteenth century habits and customs, 
not because of its idea, which is hardly noteworthy, but 
because of its humanity underlying the superficial, a human- 
ity which is eternal, whether in powder and patches, in hoop- 
skirts, or in the fashions of the present. There is a spontaneous 
flow of humor in this drama, dependent upon character, 
rather than upon situation or local reference. In fact, an 
over-abundance of local reference would take the sympa- 
thetic appeal away from a comedy after the age had passed. 

Moreover, an over-emphasis of the local, even at close 
range, is detrimental to the understanding of a piece, out- 
side that particular locality. Local characteristics, even 
national characteristics are only useful, in so far as they 
help to round out the character- value of the play. The 
Americanism in "The Lion and the Mouse" was its ruin- 
ation in England. The Western allusions in George Ade's 
"The College Widow," which was presented in London, 
hastened its return home. It is to be remarked that Mr. 
Fitch successfully produced abroad only those plays of his 
that were more French in flavor than American. "The 
Cowboy and the Lady" was only fairly received. But "The 
Truth" has not only brought success to Marie Tempest; 
because of its foreign atmosphere, it has won its way through- 
out the Continent. Americans never quite realized how 



180 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

much of a reputation Mr. Fitch had abroad. His last trip 
to Europe was a veritable sweep of the theatrical field. 
London had just received favorably "The Woman in the 
Case," and other managers were clamoring for his pieces, 
no matter how old they were. Sir Charles Wyndham was 
watching " The Blue Mouse," Belasco was seeking a contract 
with him, and every one was envious of the Shuberts who 
had secured the rights to " The City," that play which was 
to prove the last forceful flash of the maturing Mr. Fitch. 

The list of plays I have compiled will indicate some of 
the activity of Mr. Fitch. It will show that in point of 
variety, if not in^ point of solidity, he was closely akin to 
Mr. Pinero, without that deep interest in the psychology 
of character which marks the English playwright. It might 
almost be said that the majority of his plays were but vari- 
ations of the same theme. His technique was sometimes 
skilful, at other times it was hasty and crude; at its best 
it was more polished than vigorous. In the matter of dram- 
atization, one might well imagine why Mr. Fitch was un- 
successful in turning Alfred Henry Lewis's "Wolfville 
Stories" into a Western play. But it is less evident, except 
in the inherent defects that beset the dramatization of any 
novel, why it was that "The House of Mirth," a distinct- 
ively New York story of the smart-set, written by Mrs. 
Wharton, should have missed the mark. 

One final characteristic of Mr. Fitch needs to be noted, 
and it becomes distinctive if the reader is at all familiar 
with the personalities involved. Mr. Fitch nearly always 
wrote his plays with a definite actress in view. The con- 
sequence is that his characters almost invariably partook 
of the personality of their model. In "The Truth" and in 
" The Girl with the Green Eyes," the heroines are markedly 
like the late Clara Bloodgood. In "The Stubbornness of 
Geraldine," the heroine is closely related to Mary Manner- 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 181 

ing. It Is hard to find a better portrait of Miss Barrymore 
than in "Captain Jinks." "Her Own Way" is identified 
with Maxine Elliott, and "Barbara Frietchie" is synony- 
mous with Julia Marlowe. 

Thus, after noting the chief plays to Mr. Fitch's credit, 
we return to the original thesis, which dealt with the three 
underlying factors in drama. Our consideration has un- 
doubtedly shown that what Mr. Fitch needed most was the 
accentuation of the element of idea, of vital idea. By the 
cultivating of this, he would perforce have been obliged 
to work less rapidly. But Mr. Fitch was never careless, 
even in his rapidity. Quick workmanship was part of his 
nature; he was quick to observe and quick to appreciate. 
His humor was ever present, and he dramatized everything 
that came within his vision. To his sense of character, his 
sense of situation, and his sense of dialogue, Mr. Fitch added 
a fourth sense distinctively his own — that of New York 
locality. His position in American drama is one which has 
afforded a large amount of healthy enjoyment; and to have 
done this is to have done a great deal. In the matter of con- 
struction, his plays that have been published will serve the 
dramatic student as excellent examples of external stage- 
craft. They will illustrate for him in what manner the 
observation of familiar detail may be made use of, theatri- 
cally; they will illustrate in what way the interest of an 
audience may be held through an ordinary, though none 
the less picturesque, story .^ 

1 The following references will prove suggestive: Book Buyer, 
17:118 (E. F. Coward); Book Buyer, 16:323 (E. A. Dithmar); 
Critic, 38:225 (J. R. Towse). 

" Barbara Frietchie " : Literature, 5:411; Pub. Opin., 27:563; Harp. 
W., 43:1096 (J. Corbin); Lit. W., 30:361 (J. D. Barry); B'kman, 
10:317 (N. Hapgood); Critic, 35:1143 (J. R. Towse). 

" Cowboy and the Lady ": AthancBum, '99, 1:731; Sat, Bev.f 87;718 
(M, Beerbohm), 



182 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Clyde Fitch has been dead over a year (1911). Had he lived 
much beyond forty-five, we should have seen a certain 
transformation in his technique, and a more pronounced 
purpose in his plots; for he was becoming deeply conscious 
of the fundamental truths of life, and he was eager to put 
strength into his dialogue in order to offset the delicacy 
and feminine flashes which the public always considered 
purely Fitchean. "The City" was his first, as it proved 
to be his last, effort in that direction. 

Mr. Fitch often claimed that he was always measured in 
the public press by stereotyped phrases which clung to him 
because his manner was ever the same. He deplored the 
fact that the newspapers failed to give him credit for his 
close study of character, such as one finds in " The Girl with 
the Green Eyes" and in "The Truth." Only after he was 
dead did the critics begin to realize the incommunicable 
flavor permeating' his dramas. This flavor came partly 
from a close understanding of New York life, whether of the 
past or of the present — in " Captain Jinks of the Horse 
Marines" or in "Girls." But it was in larger share the 
flavor of personality. No degree of profundity could ever 
have limited Clyde Fitch's enthusiasm while writing or 
rehearsing; he w^as quick in mind and in execution, and 
sometimes his very deftness and easy brilliancy were his 
undoing. He realized this; he tried his best to push back 
the numberless contracts and offers which claimed his 
time. 

, He took his success as naively as a boy, but he was plan- 
ning to place more attention upon the message than he had 

"Head of the Family": 11. Am., 24:492; Harp. W., 42:1273 (J. 
Corbin). 

"Moth and the Flame": Critic, n. s., 29:271. 

"Nathan Hale": Harp.W., 43:35; J5'^-man, 8:528 (N.Hapgood); 
Cntic, 34:142; Harp. W., 43:213 (J. Corbin). 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 183 

heretofore done. This may later have handicapped him, 
for passages of an ethical nature in "A Happy Marriage" 
retarded the action of the piece. 

After all, the sum total of his work cannot be rejected 
from the body of dramatic literature; his very style is dis- 
tinctive and is a measure of the man's outlook upon life. 
He told his story simply, directly, tenderly and humorously. 
Only when he resorted to theatrical trickery did his work 
become uneven; and this unevenness accentuated the rich 
humanity and the kindly observation of his normal pla^^s. 
One cannot call "The Stubbornness of Geraldine" a great 
drama, but it has a certain lively charm that no other play- 
wright seems able to embody in a play. The temptation 
is to call such sentiment commonplace. "Granny" was 
full of it; so was "The Girl Who Has Everything." Seeing 
these plays in succession, the theatre-goer would criticise 
their apparent resemblance. But an analysis would in- 
evitably lead to the conclusion that the resemblance lay 
in the same personality behind them, and not in any monot- 
ony of detail. 

Clyde Fitch was extravagant in his invention; he was 
careless in throwing a whole problem away w^ithin the limits 
of a line of dialogue. Such extravagance was indicative of 
his natural interest in all things bearing on human relation- 
ships. He brought the whole of life within the compass of 
home, and he gained his audiences by a seeming comrade- 
ship which made them feel that his windows overlooked 
the very housetops with which they themselves were famil- 
iar. He knew how to use the reporter's method; one could 
see this in "The Woman in the Case," and in "The City." 
But his usual method was literary, not journalistic; it 
was narrative in direct fashion, and not impressionistic. 
And because he knew his New York so well, he could afford 
to throw out those sparks of wit and humor which tran- 



184 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

scend a town, and are common to all provincial attitudes 
toward life. If he was cynical, it was friendly banter; he 
was never bitter. Yet looking deeper into the printed page 
of his published plays, it is apparent that he had had quite 
enough of society at the time of his death; that the city 
had made such demands upon his physical strength as to 
turn his desire toward the quietness of country life. There, 
he would have started the larger work of a different kind 
from that characterizing his long list of popular plays. 
Whether he would have succeeded as well is a matter for 
futile speculation. 

He has been dead over a year, and he is missed; there is 
no one to take his place. A remark was once made by Thomas 
A. Edison to the effect that he hoped some day to have the 
time at his disposal for making a real contribution to science. 
But it is not easy to believe that anything he may do will 
ever surpass his actual genius in hitching his wagon to a 
star; in other words, in attaching a high imagination to 
practical conditions. So was it with Clyde Fitch. His 
personality is part of the work he did, and New York's 
duty is clearly defined, for he is in a sense the city's play- 
wright. America has not yet understood what honor is 
due to such literary achievement. Its immediate reward 
was in the crowds that constituted a Fitch following for 
some fifty plays, mostl}^ popular in their long " runs." Still, 
there is more to do, for now that he is dead, we know that 
something rare is taken from the theatre — something 
with a distinct literary value — light, no doubt, airy, and 
sometimes frothy, but none the less life with which we are 
all familiar. 

There is nothing old-fashioned in Clyde Fitch's attitude 
or in his workmanship; they will scarcely become out-of- 
date for many a decade. There are other artists much 
stronger, with theories of technique much more original. But 



CLYDE FITCH AND THE LOCAL SENSE 185 

Clyde Fitch's originality is to be found in his close con- 
nection with the material he used. His audiences were given 
much more of himself than they ever knew. And that is 
why they will never find any other plays quite like 
his. 

The Memorial Edition of plays by Clyde Fitch, issued by Little 
Brown & Company, and edited by Montrose J. Moses and Vir- 
ginia Gerson, contains the hitherto unpublished plays, "Lovers' 
Lane" (1901), ''The Woman in the Case" (1905), and ''The City" 
(1909). 

Another hitherto unpublished play, "The Moth and the Flame" 
(1898), is in "Representative Dramas by American Dramatists," 
Vol. Ill, edited by M. J. Moses. 

"Her Great Match" (1905) is included in A. H. Quinn's "Repre- 
sentative American Plays." 

"The Truth" is included in Dickinson's "Chief Contemporary 
Dramatists," and is presented in synopsis in J. A. Pierce's "The 
Masterpieces of Modern Drama." 

Mr. Fitch is the subject of special study in Clark's "The British 
and American Drama of To-day." 

BibUographical material on Mr. Fitch and his work is included in 
"Modern Drama and Opera," Vol. II (The Boston Book Company). 



CHAPTER XI 

CONCERNING MELODRAMA 

The use of the term melodrama has undergone many changes, 
and it is a question whether at the present moment it is 
not being subjected to another modification or crucial shift- 
ing of the point of view. Such a bastard form of art has it 
been regarded by the majority of theatre-goers, that one 
has lost sight of its origin in the sixteenth century, and of 
the romantic stock from which it sprang. The term melo- 
drama or melodramatic, as applied to a play, is popularly 
looked upon as a sign of condemnation, yet if we consider 
the essential ingredients for a moment, we will see that the 
melodrama itself is not the thing to be condemned, but rather 
the special form in which it is expressed. 

The historical side of the subject has received scant atten- 
tion from the scholar. While in general we are told that 
Ottavio Rinuccini toward the end of the sixteenth century 
invented the term melodrama, from the Greek words meaning 
melody and action, and while we are given to understand 
that in its application it related entirely to opera, Jean 
Jacques Rousseau having written his "Pygmalion" for 
instrumental music; still a scholar has yet to unravel its 
development from the intricacies of the romantic period, 
which swept through Italy and France and thence to Eng- 
land. It is hardly conceivable that the music written by 
Beethoven for "Egmont," or by Massenet for "Phedre," 
should be classed in the same genre as " Nellie, the Beautiful 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 187 

Cloak Model" or "Convict 999;" ^ yet such is the case, and 
from such a loose application of the term there has arisen 
a misunderstanding as to the true elements in melodrama. 

Analyzing the relation between music and drama, we note 
the point from which melodrama might be said to start. 
Always the highest moments in an opera, the most brilliant 
moments, are those which involve the characteristic elements 
of a glaring play. The characters sing longest when they 
are dying, they boast loudest in the most pronounced arias 
of the score; their actions are broad and lack subtlety, a 
subtlety which is dependent more upon the music than upon 
the play. Possibly it is because the musician has instinctively 
realized that the moments of greatest music are the moments 
of greatest human suffering; and undoubtedly the melo- 
dramatist of to-day has grasped this fact, and is working it for 
all it is worth. Take away from our operas the orchestration, 
and the plots will be little more than out and out melodrama. 

The student of the theatre will some day, in dealing with 
this subject of melodrama, be forced to disentangle its 
beginnings from the most heightened creations of the roman- 
tic period. He will not disdain to connect this genre of play- 
writing with that struggle which went on between the classic 
spirit and the romantic spirit, and which finally resulted 
in the victory of the latter, when Victor Hugo, in 1830, 
published "Hernani." It was the same struggle which had 
commenced in France when the Academicians, Boileau and 
Charles Perrault, became so deeply involved in a quarrel 
resulting in petty innuendoes and personal thrusts. 

Practically the same result was accomplished in England 

1 The methods of advertising melodrama are unique. When 
** Convict 999" was first produced, three men in stripes, and chained 
together, tramped the streets of New York, The managers of 
"Tony, the Bootblack" sent three boys through certain sections of 
the city, giving free shines to all holders of tickets for ''the show." 



188 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

as Dutton Cook claims was effected in France. For, to 
quote the latter: "Schlegel, writing early in the century, 
notes that dramatic poetry in Paris possessed a certain 
point of contact with the police, and that the restrictions 
placed upon the leading theatres banished to the minor stages 
all new and mixed attempts at histrionic entertainment." 

The history of melodrama in England began in 1802, 
when Holcroft adapted a French manuscript which he called 
"A Tale of Mystery." And at this early period it is inter- 
esting to note the popular conception of the origin of the 
term melodrama, as conceived by the son of Harris, the 
manager of Covent Garden. He wrote to Frederick Reynolds 
from Paris regarding the peculiar type of plays which were 
classed under a name derived from the two words meler 
and drame} 

Up to the time of the advent of the Dion Boucicault 
sensationalism, for he may be regarded as one of the first 
to combine the excess of situation with the excess of stage 
mechanism, melodrama might be said to have become almost 
conventional in its adherence to a species of foreign brigand 
literature. There was not very much desire to accentuate 
the events of everyday life, but, adhering to the stereotyped 
romantic passions and situations of the Radcliffe school of 
novels, the melodramatist of this earlier period wrote more 
in the tone of the opera librettist than of the dramatist. 
The history of melodrama in this country, to within recent 
years, is practically the same as that of England, and the 
two may be said to have been dependent upon French sources. 
In the period of 1860, America was inundated with a type 
of "dime novel" story, which spread from ocean to ocean, 
affecting literature for growing boys, and likewise afford- 
ing a new impetus to melodrama. For about this time, 

1 Gr. meloSj song, + drama(t-), < drao, perform. 




Photo, by Sarony 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 189 

as we have said before, Mr. Belasco was enjoying such a 
glaring piece as "The Idiot Boy of the Rocky Mountains;" 
and when he reached the East, he found that Mr. Daly had 
made a success with a melodrama of that section, entitled 
"Under the Gaslight." The type of play such as "The 
Two Orphans," which is in its essentials nothing but a melo- 
drama, could not long survive the reaction which in drama 
was now to take place. There is no doubt that, even as 
Pinero and Jones were to break from Robertson and Taylor, 
and realism was to usurp the boards, so melodrama would 
likewise be affected by this very realism. The ingredients 
have always been the same, but the objective point of view 
was obliged to undergo material alteration with the change 
of conditions. The present-day melodrama, which is better 
named sensational drama, has been materially affected by 
those forces which have been detected behind yellow journal- 
ism. 

Let us get clearly in mind the characteristics marking 
melodrama. The dominant feature is situation; the broadest 
results of the very broadest and most elemental emotions. 
Mr. Walkley has expressed it by saying that there are two 
sides of a criminal, the outside and the inside, melodrama 
usually dealing with the former, whereas the novelist would 
search for the conditions resulting in the existence of the 
criminal. These two sides are in substance the distinctive 
difference between present-day melodrama and present- 
day fiction. 

The old English and French miracle plays had in them all 
the essentials of this glaring stage type. The manner in 
which the miracle of "St. Nicholas and the Thieves" w^as 
presented, the careful delineation of Hellmouth, with the 
Devil and his demons rushing up and down the aisles of the 
church, appealed to the same instincts in the mass of medi- 
seval people, that the broad glorification of good and the met- 



190 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

ing of punishment do to the people of to-day. Fitzball, who 
was considered one of the most productive melodramatists 
of the early nineteenth century in England, heard Sheridan 
Knowles proclaim that he considered "Macbeth" one of the 
finest melodramas he had ever seen; and there is undoubted 
truth in what he said. Perhaps he asserted this as a defense 
of his own play, "The Hunchback" — which itself belongs 
to this class of drama. But even at that early day the term 
had been so misused and the species had so broadened, freed 
from the narrow restrictions of the patent theatres of Lon- 
don, that Douglas Jerrold, in his report before the Parlia- 
mentary Commission of 1832, appointed to examine into 
the status of the London theatres, inadvertently invented 
a new term, which is familiar to us to-day as the legitimate 
drama, and which he pitted against this other form. Not 
only did he deplore the over-accentuation of the physical 
result to the detriment of the mental cause in melodrama, 
but Macready likewise regarded the sensational with such 
disfavor that his contracts stipulated he should be given 
no part partaking of a melodramatic character. 

Up to this time melodrama, which is not only a legitimate 
type, but also a dominant characteristic of our American 
life, has run wild. The writer of melodrama has misinter- 
preted his license, and the lovers of the melodramatic are 
being sated with a succession of situations and a minimum 
of plot. One of the most successful playwrights of this type 
of piece is Owen Davis, the author of "The Confessions of 
a Wife" — which is distinctive from his other plays by the 
fact that it calls for no "guns," to use a professional term, — 
"Nellie, the Beautiful Cloak Model" and "Convict 999." 
He has declared that a certain reaction is about to take 
place in this indiscriminate use of situation for situation's 
sake; that his audiences are now beginning to see the im- 
probability of so many hairbreadth escapes occurring in 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 191 

the life of any human being within the three hours' traffic 
of the stage. The pubhc libraries are improving the taste 
of the pubhc. So that from excess we are forced to return to 
consistency. 

Only a hairline separates the emotion of Broadway from 
that of the Bowery. Mr. Gillette's "Sherlock Holmes" was 
nothing more than a "thriller," acted with a certain refine- 
ment and a certain reserve; which characteristics are usually 
avoided by the manager of melodrama. Not only has the 
sensational play taken unto itself a certain formula by which 
virtue and villainy are expressed, but it likewise requires 
a diction which is excessive in its accentuation. 

When all is told, therefore, the difference between the 
legitimate theatre and melodrama lies in this matter of 
accentuation. Bartley Campbell's "My Partner," Lester 
Wallack's "Rosedale," "The White Heather," Jones's "The 
Silver King," "The Ticket-of-Leave Man," C. M. S. McLel- 
lan's " LeahKleschna," and " The Great Ruby" are accounted 
melodramas of the old school, containing all the distorted 
actions and passions of the present type, but differing from 
the present type, inasmuch as the stories were consistent 
and the characterizations human. Despite the sensational- 
ism in Dion Boucicault, the genial Irish atmosphere was 
dominant, and the heart interest was so romantic as to cover 
the daring ventures with the gloss of possibility. Now, 
however, such writers of melodrama as Owen Davis and 
Theodore Kremer have discarded the intermediate develop- 
ment between the glaring situations, and are dealing wholly 
with the situations themselves, one after the other, irrespec- 
tive of their possibility in life, and with the sole intention 
of deadening the logical sense of the spectator with sensa- 
tionalism. 

Mr. Davis is a Harvard graduate, and was drawn into 
writing such plays as "Tony, the Bootblack" and "Nellie, 



192 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the Beautiful Cloak Model" by his association with "The 
Great Ruby" company. He thought he could write just 
as clever a story for the stage, and so he began then and 
there, acting meanwhile, until he gained a footing as one 
of the principal manufacturers of the sensational play. He 
recognized the legitimate side of melodrama, he deplored 
the piling up of catastrophe upon catastrophe, he saw the 
bathos in the formula which states that the play ends only 
when every possible calamity has been exhausted. Mr. 
Davis was what one might call a student of his particular 
field. He understood his public, which in matter of taste is 
of the Laura Jean Libbey class. He knew wherein this pub- 
lic was credulous, — the point of appeal in its sentimental 
make-up. His audiences would not countenance the regen- 
eration of a stage bad man; they must have the victory 
of virtue and the happy ending; the good must be rewarded 
suddenly, the bad must be punished lingeringly. 

Mr. Davis has now deserted the realm of the sensational 
for that of the legitimate, but in doing so he has not forgotten 
the measure of that public to which he used to make appeal. 
In an interview, he has epitomized the characteristics of 
melodrama in this manner: 

"On Third Avenue the treatment is different. Instead 
of avoiding the obvious you must insist upon it first, last 
and all the time. You must move up the ascending scale of 
emotions with directness. Your hero must be labeled at 
his first entrance. Nothing must be left to inference. It 
is almost indispensable that he knock down the villain in 
the first two minutes following his entrance. In the same 
easy way your comedian must get a laugh as he comes on. 
Instead of having your heroine pursued by some ab- 
stract thing such as fate, you must have her pursued by a 
tangible villain bent upon cutting her throat. You must 
pile catastrophe upon catastrophe, By th(? time the hero 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 193 

throws his protecting arms around her in the last act, she 
must have narrowly escaped scalping by Indians, been 
almost drowned in a mill-race, missed death in a train wreck, 
and been shot at and stabbed by the villain, to say nothing 
of having passed unscathed through several conflagrations, 
an earthquake or two, a mine cave-in, or a magazine ex- 
plosion. The play only ends when you have exhausted 
every possible calamity, but it ends happily; it must end 
happily. And the hero must remain the hero, and the vil- 
lain must die as black as when he first came on. I know, 
because I have tried. The public has no faith in the regen- 
eration of the stage bad man. He is there as the symbol of 
everything that 's bad, and by the fourth act he has com- 
mitted every crime possible. The audience does n't want 
him to repent and get away free. He must be killed linger- 
ingly, if possible. Right must triumph and wrong must be 
punished. That is one of the fundamental principles of the 
so-called cheap drama. 

" In that particular the cheap drama is a power for good 
and a moralizing force of no little value. Our heroics are 
mock heroics, perhaps, but they have a salutary effect never- 
theless. The lowly laborer who lives a life of squalor in 
the back room of a tenement, when he hears the hero declare 
that he would rather die than steal, may come to think that, 
after all, this is the sort of morality that suits him too. 

" Speaking only of my own plays, I dare say that I have 
addressed each season an audience numbering upward of 
seven million people. I have had eighteen plays on the 
road at a time, and about ninety in stock. In every one of 
my pieces there is some wholesome truth, some good moral 
precept advanced, and yet almost invariably the attitude 
maintained by the press toward these plays is one of gentle 
derision. Serious criticism of them is never attempted. The 
one reason why newspaper men are sent to cover them is to 



194 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

poke fun at them the next day. They furnish the basis for 
funny stories, nothing else. Personally, I don't see any 
fairness in this. Certain papers which I need not mention 
make special effort to catch the proletariat by writing down 
their editorials to the mental level and understanding of the 
illiterate, prosaic, unlettered, uncultured classes, and then 
turn right about to another column and assume the superior 
and high-art tone in discussing the plays which these same 
people go to see." 

And should we ask Mr. Davis to outline the formula for 
us succinctly, he would say that his audiences never take 
things for granted. You must emphasize for them that a 
certain event is going to happen, that it is happening, and 
that it has happened; three times each point must be driven 
home. Humanity being the keynote, the ten- and twenty- 
and thirty-cent theatre-goer must have action laid on in large 
sweeps. The emotions must not be subtle; they must ascend 
toward the climax, not in flowing consistency, but with inter- 
mittent thumps. The formula exacts that the heroine must 
be as young and fresh after twenty hairbreadth escapes as 
though she were attending a garden party. Yet from the 
technical side, Mr. Davis's ingenuity is striking. He wrote 
the dialogue for and planned the staging of "The Siege of 
Port Arthur" for the Hippodrome, and certain striking ele- 
ments therein he transferred to his own melodrama, " Convict 
999." ^ He has written so many melodramas of the con- 
ventional type, he has studied the situation so thoroughly, 
that he is able to tell exactly in what respects the next change 
in melodrama will be revealed. Although his "Gambler 
of the West," his "Broadway after Dark," his "Chinatown 

1 Other plays by Mr. Davis are: "On Trial for his Life," "The 
Crooked Path," "The Priuce of Spendthrifts," "The Millionaire 
and the Circus Rider," "Jack Sheppard, the Bandit King," and 
"The King and Queen of Gamblers." 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 195 

Charlie," and his "Creole Slave's Revenge" are sure of a 
hearing from his particular following, he recognizes that 
this following is becoming sated, that their acceptance is 
being turned into incredulity, that they are being educated 
away from the old order and nearer the legitimate realm of 
melodrama. 

In this respect, it may be noted that A. H. Woods, one 
of the largest managers of melodrama in America, is himself 
being involved in this change. For while he has been the 
means of encouraging the thriller of the present, he likewise, 
as a manager, has been drawn nearer to the legitimate drama; 
and a reaction is likewise occurring in his own attitude toward 
this particular theatre which has made him a fortune. Where- 
as heretofore he would have discountenanced any attempt 
on the part of Owen Davis or Theodore Kremer, of John 
Oliver or of the other countless writers of melodrama to 
use any subtle methods in depicting emotion, in treating 
consistent sequence of cause and effect, he is now himself 
becoming critical of the sensationalism of the past. Just 
so soon as Mr. Woods goes over the line which separates the 
melodramatic syndicate from the theatrical trust, just so 
soon will the new departure in melodrama occur.^ Then 
will Mr. Davis be able to put into practice his greatest hopes, 
and, provided his sense of proportion is not atrophied, he 
will be able to satisfy his own ambitions. 

Mr. Theodore Kremer likewise shows the same dissatis- 
faction over being forced to produce such dramas as " Bertha, 
the Sewing Machine Girl," "Fast Life in New York," "The 
Fatal Wedding," and "The King of Bigamists." He out- 
lines the melodramatic formula in this way: "My audiences 
are all from Missouri; they want to be shown; unless you 
show them first they will not believe. In the play now being 

1 Since this writing, Mr. Woods has gone over the line in "The 
Girl and the Taxi," a piece full of dull vulgarity. 



196 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

acted by Miss Ethel Barrymore ['Her Sister'], it is made 
clear during the conversation that the fortune-teller and 
the young man to whom she is engaged first met in a train. 
Now it is all right for the Broadway audiences to hear that 
the two met in a train, but the Eighth Avenue audiences 
have to be shown the train and the meeting. Instead of 
beginning the acquaintance by having him hand her a paper, 
he would — to please my theatre goers — have to fling the 
paper in her face. She would be insulted and address him, 
'Sir!' Then he would apologize, the acquaintance would 
begin, and it could then ripen into love, but not before. And 
in the first act of the play the fortune-teller would have to 
be shot on to the stage out of a trap-door." 

Mr. Kremer was once regarded as the Clyde Fitch of 
melodrama, even as Owen Davis usurped the title of 
Augustus Thomas; and should one examine the manuscripts 
of each, this distinction might be readily seen, for Mr. Davis's 
sensationalism is fraught with the vigor of the masculine, 
whereas Mr. Kremer usually deals with the feminine.^ Yet 
despite this sex view-point, their plays are worked absolutely 
upon the same lines; their heroes, their heroines, their 
villains, their inconsistencies, their colloquial humor, their 
virtues which obtrude to such a degree as to lack virtue, 
their seriousness which is so pronounced as to be humorous, 
are all of the same color. They write their plays according 
to a formula decided upon between themselves and their 
manager. The bill-board posters are drawn a long while 
before pen is even put to paper. The trap-doors, the bridges 
which are to be blown up, the walls which are to be scaled, 
the instruments of torture for the persecuted heroines, the 

^ Other writers of melodrama are John Oliver, Hal Reid, Lem 
B. Parker, William L. Roberts, Joseph B, Totten, Joseph Le Brandt, 
and Langdon McCormack. Al Woods is taken as the typical pro- 
ducer of melodramas; there were others. 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 197 

freight elevators which are to crush out the hves of deserving 
characters, the elevated trains which are to rush upon the 
prostrate forms of gagged and insensible girls, — all these 
melodramatic accessories are determined upon before the 
manuscript takes shape. In fact, there is little shaping 
done after the situations are decided upon. The only thing 
left for the dramatist is to fill up the gaps with conversations 
which lead, however irrelevantly, to the situations them- 
selves. Herein are to be found those elements of melodrama 
which are finally to be the cause of its own undoing. For 
the masses are being better educated, are — because of the 
general interest in drama — coming under influences which 
raise their standards of living and soften their ideals. One 
cannot fool the public all the time at the theatre, even though 
it be on Eighth Avenue or on the Bowery. They have been 
fooled once, twice, thrice; and soon they will reach the 
point where the manager of melodrama will in turn find 
himself fooled. That is the hope of the legitimate melo- 
drama. Besides which, those audiences once sated with 
such acting now find their tastes gratified by the moving 
picture which has to accentuate action in order to be seen. 

It is hard to analyze any of the plays representing this 
pecuHar type. The newspaper accidents, murders, intrigues, 
the electrical and mechanical marvels of the age, are all 
used. There is the conventional drunkard who maltreats 
the conventional cripple; there is the one character from 
whom all humor flows, a convention which marks the Yid- 
dish stage as well. The hero, in the course of his progress 
along the path of love, disguises himself a thousand and one 
times; and the grand finale usually comes with the arrival 
of a man-of-war, or the rushing on of soldiers. You cannot 
outline the plot; you can only enumerate the situations. 

It is said that yellow journalism is dependent not so much 
upon the manner in which a leading article is written, as on 



198 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the style in which the type is set and the manner in which 
the pictures are drawn. 

This perhaps might likewise be claimed for melodrama. 
Once win a bad name, and it is hard to escape it. In Mr. 
Belasco's " The Girl of the Golden West" the wounded hero 
is hidden by the girl from the pursuing Sheriff, and from 
where he lies in the rafters of the room, blood drips upon the 
floor beneath. Had Mr. Kremer been the author of this 
piece, one would have smiled at it. But the two-dollar audi- 
ences accepted it because it was Mr. Belasco. However, 
the difference between "The Girl of the Golden West," 
softened by some attempt at subdued acting, and "The 
Girl of the Golden West" as it might have been given on the 
Bowery or Eighth Avenue, would lie wholly in the matter 
of accentuation. 

Undoubtedly the melodrama of to-day differs from the 
melodrama of yesterday; and that it has fallen into dis- 
favor is due solely to the fact that its essential characteristics 
have been misused. This does not mean that the character- 
istics, per se, are not healthy and dramatic. The melodrama 
of to-morrow will show an increased consistency on the part 
of the dramatist, and will indicate a corresponding improve- 
ment in the tastes of those audiences which are now stigma- 
tized as a class, but which differ essentially from the legiti- 
mate audiences only in the fact that one pays twenty-five 
cents for a seat while the other pays two dollars. 

NOTE 

On the subject of melodrama, the reader is referred to the fol- 
lowing: 

"Old Melodrama." H. D. Baker. Belgra., 50:331-39, 1883. 
"Possibilities of Melodrama." Syec, 56:1691. 
" Melodrama." All the Year, 41 :436. 
"Melodrama." See Price's "Technique of the Drama." 
"Melodrama." Harry James Smith. Atlantic, March, 1907 . 



CONCERNING MELODRAMA 199 

'Melodrama." Diccionario Enciclopedico Hispano-Americano 

de Literatura, Ciencias y Artes. 
'The Taint of Melodrama and some Recent Books." F. T. Cooper. 

Bookman, 22:630-35, Feb., 1906. 
Melodrama." Button Cook. ''On the Stage," 2:190. 
Melodrama." A. B. Walkley. "Playhouse," 170. 
Melodrama." International. Dodd, Mead. 



CHAPTER XII 

THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 



The kinetoscopic theatre is at the parting of the ways. The 
crucial point has arrived when it shall either be a great suc- 
cess or an absolute failure. In New York alone, people have 
been flocking through the gaudy, blatant entrances at the 
rate of two hundred thousand a week. In eighteen minutes 
they have been given a production of "Romeo and Juliet" 
or of "Othello'' or of "Francesca da Rimini," and they have 
gone out, only to be superseded by a crowd as big and just 
as eager. The manager of the mechanical "show" measures 
his profit by the rapidity with which he turns out one audi- 
ence and gathers in another. 

The kinetoscopic theatre, however, is a factor to be reck- 
oned with. It may be made a source of good or a source of 
evil. It has built up a business which has its problems similar 
to those confronting the theatre managers. It requires for 
its success an intelligent handling on the part of the manu- 
facturer of the pictures, of the middleman, and of the show- 
man. Unfortunately, with the rapid increase of the business, 
this careful thought is lacking. Where a manufacturing 
firm turns out nearly two hundred and eighty thousand feet 
of film a day, it is natural that much of the material should 
be of inferior quality. There is ample room for the kineto- 
scopic dramatist. 

The kinetoscopic theatre audience speaks in terms of 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 201 

minutes and miles. When it goes to see " Othello/' jt ex- 
pects to grasp the story in seventeen minutes. The actors 
who are employed to perform a play before the camera 
interpret their roles in terms of large gestures, of abnormal 
facial expression, and of excessive passion. Not so very 
long ago a stock company in New England was employed 
by one of the kinetoscopic companies to play for them the 
first act of Belasco's version of "Zaza." Ordinarily, this 
takes from forty -five to fifty minutes for actual performance, 
but the company ran through all the "business" in fifteen 
minutes. This might be called strenuous acting in a mechan- 
ical age. Instead of having to pay actors for performing 
" Romeo and Juliet," the manager of the nickelodeon has to 
pay for the use of his films by the week, being charged ac- 
cording to the number of feet used in telling the story. For 
example, the film of Boker's "Francesca da Rimini," em- 
bracing seven scenes, has a length of 990 feet, "Romeo and 
Juliet" 915 feet, and "Macbeth" 835 feet. A time will 
come, therefore, when drama for the kinetoscope audiences 
will literally be measured by the mile. 

The five- and ten-cent theatres sell their tickets as the 
drug stores dispose of their soda checks, in long rolls. Un- 
fortunately for the business, there are many sections of every 
large city where two or three such theatres are found in one 
block, following the example of the saloon. Competition 
is healthy, but such wildcat speculation is ruinous to the 
small manager. He thinks that to have his machine and to 
rent his films are sufficient. He does not calculate upon 
whether or not the location is good; he does not plan how 
to manage his audiences; he believes — judging by the 
profits that others have made — that the show will run 
itself, whereas it is subject to the same rules as other busi- 
nesses. The average exhibitor of moving-pictures must 
either show brains — which he is not doing — or else go 



202 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

under. Though his outfit may be mechanical, his audience 
is not; the people have definite tastes regarding what they 
see, and the exhibitor, the manufacturer, and the renter 
must watch this public in order to sound its varying desires. 

It is only a question of time before the nickelodeon is 
improved: either the wildcat manager will be forced out 
of business, or he will have to conform to better methods. 
A failure to-day in the moving-picture business means that 
the man who owns the business has no brains, and does not 
know the people of the locality in which he works. For, 
after all, the success of the nickelodeon represents so much 
human response. 

Usually, the frequenters of these cheap places are those 
who cannot afford more expensive pleasures; those who 
gather around the white tin entrances with their glaring 
posters are most likely children who cannot even afford 
five-cent luxuries. These waifs are kept at bay by a man 
flourishing a cane. Sometimes, when business is slack, 
children are invited in to help keep up appearances. 

There is much to be said for and against the moving- 
picture. Judiciously used, it could be educational, but at 
best it is mechanical, it lacks individuality; this must be 
kept in mind. Its usefulness has received widespread 
recognition. The government at Washington has its film 
department; the moving-picture serves as record for military 
manoeuvres and naval displays. A catalogue records the 
title for a film twenty-seven feet long : " A German Torpedo 
Flotilla in Action," taken by special command of Kaiser 
Wilhelm. In New York, the Museum of Natural History 
is experimenting with the cinematograph, picturing the 
flight of birds, the habitat of bears. 

The moving-picture as an amusement lacks the human 
element, yet the response it creates is human. It can never 
be art; it can only be a representation of art, and as such 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 203 

it must be directed. The Victor talking machines have 
ground forth the speeches of Taft and of Bryan; the bio- 
graph has projected the motion of the National Conven- 
tions. Bring the phonograph and the biograph together, 
and still the live element is absent. For this reason it is one 
of the greatest enemies to the theatre, which is a live insti- 
tution, presenting plays in human fashion. 

At best the nickelodeon audiences are casual groups : they 
are not held together by any effective bond of common 
interest or large idea. Their drama is told in seeable action, 
and there is little or no time spent on other than elemental 
idea or sentiment. That is a danger which only an educa- 
tional grip of the situation could stop. But the boys and 
girls of the tenements, their mothers and fathers, go of an 
evening because the diversion is stimulating without effort, 
even though there is a strain upon the eyes. 

The manufacturer of mechanical music, of mechanical 
drama, has an ethical responsibility. It lies between points 
admirably indicated by two scenes which are uppermost in 
my mind. One Sunday morning, in the Blue Ridge Moun- 
tains, overlooking the Shenandoah Valley, I visited a cabin 
perched above a forest of trees; grandmother, grandfather, 
mother and father, son and daughter, and a string of children 
sat grouped around a phonograph, listening to some country- 
man telling his comical city experiences. Then the father, 
in flannel shirt and heavy boots, his lined and roughened 
face aglow with pleasure, announced that a church choir 
would sing to them. Despite the grating sound, these 
simple folk sat awed by the beauty of the quartette. The 
manufacturers measure popular taste by the music halls, 
and, unfortunately, not by the native temperament.^ 

* In passing, it is well to note that the phonograph is now being 
used to record the negro folk-songs and the tribal chants of 
Indians. 



204 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The other picture is on Avenue C, in New York, in a 
crowded block, where people must elbow their way, where 
there is never quiet, and never a blade of grass. The Herr 
Professor in charge of one of these houses would have nature 
scenes brought from the topmost mountain, from the inner- 
most depth of the American forest, to offset the cramping 
city view of tenement upon tenement. Such is the possi- 
bility, yet such is not the accomplishment, except in this 
one instance. The moving-picture business needs in- 
telligent guiding; that is its one hope. Otherwise, it be- 
comes a menace, socially, morally, and ethically. What is 
now urgent is to prevent the vitiating effect of undesirable 
performances. The nickelodeon without an idea behind it is 
a menace to the neighborhood. The idea must be inserted, 
for there is no doubt that the moving-picture has come to 
stay. The visual sense must be supplemented by a mental 
stimulus. Intellectually, the five-cent audience is worthy 
of a higher form of amusement than the moving-picture 
show can supply. It is the personality of its manager, with 
his ideas and his ideals, that raises the business to a dif- 
ferent plane. And the Herr Professor, with his educational 
aspirations and his knowledge of what the people like, found 
that being a conscientious nickelodeon manager brought 
profit in more ways than one. 

It must be borne in mind that the exhibitor has to deal 
with the manufacturer through a middleman. There is a 
film trust, just as there is a theatrical trust, and the 
exhibitor is not allowed to rent directly from the manu- 
facturers. There are two dangers consequent upon this 
arrangement. The exhibitor often has no choice but to take 
what the renter gives him. If he receives a good subject 
one day, he has to expect a poor, a sensational, a common 
subject the next. This would be obviated, provided the 
exhibitor could select his films for each show directly from 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 205 

the manufacturer. To judge by investigations, it will be 
found that the exhibitor has not yet discovered that he is 
not obHged to take what he does not wish. The trust situ- 
ation, as it confronts the kinetoscope business, is a struggle 
carried on between several organized manufacturers on the 
one hand and a number of independent firms on the other. 
The exhibitor, therefore, has reached that stage when he 
grabs what he can get. A censorship bureau, begun in New 
York, but of wide scope, now gives better advantages to 
the small exhibitor, inasmuch as by its actions it is weeding 
out that which will be harmful, and demanding higher grade 
films. 

II 

The nickelodeon theatre has its press-agent, and this press 
agent has his particular vocabulary, filled with descriptive 
adjectives that express motion. The Moving Picture World, 
devoted to the interests of animated photographs, quotes 
a sample of such literature: "To hear the voice, to catch 
every sound and intonation of every word, and see the people 
in life size moving before your eyes, and yet realise there 
is not a single person there — it seems like some phantom 
of the brain, an hallucination, and one is almost tempted to 
rush to the stage and grapple with the ghostly actors as one 
is moved to cry out in the vividness of a dream.'' 

After a performance is completed, the audience is supposed 
to pass out. In some places the management delicately re- 
minds them of this fact by repeating one or two of the pictures 
previously seen. In other places, however, such a method 
is entirely too subtle, and so an official, known as " the chaser," 
proceeds down the middle aisle doing his work. Most of 
the theatres are managed in practically the same way. 
Should you visit several of them you would find a certain 
monotony, which is one of the insurmountable facts about 



206 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

moving-pictures — the monotony of mechanical interpreta- 
tion. 

But the moving-picture has in many respects come to stay. 
The newspaper reporter, for instance, has a rival, since it 
has now become generally recognized that wherever an 
event of moment is taking place, side by side with the news- 
paper man may generally be found the moving-picture man 
with his outfit. I have been told that in England such a 
phrase as "the animated newspaper" has been coined. 
King Edward VII. once opened an exhibition at South Ken- 
sington; two hours and a half after the ceremony, a matinee 
audience twelve miles away was witnessing the occurrence 
by means of the kinetoscope. The reporter speaks of his 
Sunday feature in the newspaper. In the same sense the 
moving-picture man is accomplishing similar results by 
his films, which show the surrender of Port Arthur, the riots 
in St. Petersburg — led by Father Capon — and the assas- 
sination of the Grand Duke Sergius. 

Already the operators of the kinetoscope have formed 
themselves into an organization known as " Local No. 23 
of the Theatrical, Electrical, Calcium Picture and Project- 
ing Machine Operators' Union of New York." Everywhere 
in this moving-picture business, there seems to be organi- 
zation, but there are many entering the field who have no idea 
as to how the work should be run. 

Sometimes when the films are particularly fine, the man- 
ager raises his price from five to ten cents, just as the theatre 
manager raises his price when Bernhardt comes to this 
country. On the New York East Side during Easter Week 
the whole Passion of Christ was given in moving-pictures. 
The performance took more than an hour and was accom- 
panied by a lecture outlining the chief incidents. Altogether 
the films, divided into four parts, amounted to three thou- 
sand, one hundred and fourteen feet in length. Despite the fact 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 207 

that this nickelodeon theatre was situated in the Jewish quar- 
ter, the manager told me that during the week he exhibited 
the film, his business had been larger than ever before. 

I have used the phrase "exhibited the film." This means 
that, according to the way in which the business is managed, 
the films travel from point to point, just as a stock company 
would go from theatre to theatre. A film has its "route," 
just as a traveling company has its "route," and I have been 
told by many operators: "My *Way Down East' film, or 
my * Ben-Hur ' film arrives to-morrow evening." The Ameri- 
can dramatists have sought to protect themselves through 
a revision of the copyright law, and a suit once pended over 
the kinetoscope use of "Ben-Hur." When one considers 
that we are applying human terms to the mechanical facts, 
the humor of the situation is very striking. 

In Paris, the Pathe Freres — realizing the essential right 
of the French dramatist to his own property — have done 
the next best thing; they have arranged with members of 
the Society of French Dramatists and Authors to write special 
plays for use solely by the kinetoscope. If the talking- 
machines may preserve the voices of our opera singers, why 
may not the kinetoscope preserve the acting of our actors? 
For, to carry the educational feature one step further, the 
time may not be far off when our dramatic schools will be 
instructed by Mme. Bernhardt and Coquelin from the moving- 
picture screen. 

Unfortunately, in our rush to introduce the moving-pic- 
tures into this country — a rush that is creating a very 
thoughtless competition in the trade — our manufacturers 
are forgetting the ethics of the business. They have not 
as yet compromised in the French manner with the American 
dramatist, though they will be forced later on to do so. But 
they have been taking without permission the popular 
successes of the moment, and turning them by the whole- 



208 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

sale into kinetoscopic shows. That is why, in its last session, 
the Copyright Committee called before it many representa- 
tives of the American Dramatists' Club, especially those 
who were suffering by reason of the kinetoscopic perform- 
ances of their plays. William A. Brady gave his evidence 
as to "Way Down East": "My play," so he said, "is now 
being printed on films of from a hundred to two hundred 
copies a week, by a company which is a member of this 
[moving-picture] Trust in Chicago; and yesterday one of 
my companies, composed of thirty-five people — men and 
women — was forced off the road and sent back to New York. 
They never can play again, because in nearly every one- 
night stand in this country, 'Way Down East' is being 
presented on every street corner, presented from a stolen 
manuscript by a man who went into one of our theatres 
and took down a copy of our play, and sold it to this picture 
firm which is now destroying my property." At the same 
committee meeting, Charles Klein spoke of "The Music 
Master" which had been presented at a nickelodeon house 
on Fourteenth Street. This competition with his own play 
hurt the gallery receipts at the Academy of Music; and such 
a condition is ruination in many instances to the manager, 
since the profits of a theatre are almost always to be found 
in the gallery. 

During the course of this conference between legislators 
and theatrical people, it was brought out that contracts had 
been made in France by moving-picture manufacturers, with 
Edmond Rostand, Henri Lavedan, and Alfred Capus, for the 
writing of special plays, the former to do three fairy dramas, 
of which the first will be "The Sleeping Beauty," while 
Lavedan will write an historical drama, dealing with the 
Due de Guise, and Capus will depict scenes of financial life 
in Paris. 

The manager of the nickelodeon has his legal problems 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 209 

to contend with. There is a license to be obtained. There 
is the consideration of whether he will be allowed to intro- 
duce vaudeville into his performance without being required 
to pay for a theatre license. There are laws to be considered 
that bring him in contact with the Department of Electricity, 
the Fire Department, the Tenement House Department, 
and the Department of Licenses. He has to struggle with 
the insurance companies, which look askance at the risk. He 
is now being menaced by a law that is looming up before 
him, preventing a nickelodeon theatre from being situated 
in any tenement house where the risk jeopardizes the lives 
of families living above. 

On the other hand, the managers of these small amuse- 
ment places have to be watched carefully. It has been found 
that some will take out licenses as operators, and then will 
transfer these licenses to small boys who are employed in 
their stead at lower salaries. In New Jersey, to cite one 
instance, boys of eleven years old were reported as running 
the machine. The sanitary condition of the places has to 
be supervised, and the Building Department has found 
difficulty in making the managers comply with the laws 
regulating the exits. So many foreigners are now entering 
the business that it has been found necessary to agitate 
the adoption of a special bill requiring all managers and 
operators to be citizens of the United States, as well as 
residents of the community in which they work. Massachu- 
setts has been markedly active in passing ordinances. One 
in particular has touched upon the greatest weakness con- 
nected with the kinetoscope as an educational or amusement 
consideration. I refer to the strain upon the sight. After 
visiting a number of these places in succession, subjecting the 
eyes to two hours* continual use, it will be found that the per- 
sistent flutter of the film not only tires but pains the muscles 
of the eyes. After careful investigation by some of the lead- 



210 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

ing physicians in Boston, the Massachusetts Legislature 
passed a bill requiring that five minutes of light must flood 
the theatre after every twenty minutes of pictures. This 
requirement, if it is generally passed through the States, as 
it should be, will hurt many small places which are only long, 
dark stores supplied with a number of seats but with no 
ventilation and no windows. 

Inventors are busily engaged in trying to overcome the 
defects in the moving-pictures. It has been found that the 
flutter of the film on the screen is due to one of two causes: 
either the strip is an old one, or there are not a sufficient 
number of pictures covering the different movements. By 
this latter statement is meant that were more pictures taken 
per second, there would be less apparent flutter of the film. 
A French firm has just avoided any possibility of eye strain 
by having their films contain many more pictures to the 
second, thus reducing to a minimum the apparent gap from 
point to point of action, and thus doing away altogether 
with any jar. Another important change has been effected. 
Most of the pictures thrown upon the white screen appear 
flat; there is no atmosphere behind objects seen. In other 
words, the figures look as though they were being witnessed 
by a person with one eye closed. Perfect perspective will 
soon be given to the kinetoscope theatre performances 
through a binocular effect. 

Still another improvement will come. That will be in the 
reproduction of natural color upon the screen, the applica- 
tion of color photography to the kinetoscope. The other 
improvement which is now a fact will perhaps mean more 
in a general way to the operator than the others. In run- 
ning his machine, he has always been fearful of fire; the 
slightest defect in the instrument would result in his film 
catching fire from the electric spark. The companies are 
now sending out non-inflammable material. 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 211 

The important point regarding the moving-picture is 
that it has educational possibilities. The five-cent audience 
is not only a clean audience, but is ambitious as well. The 
manufacturers of films have thus far produced much that 
is trash, especially in their comic, or what they call harmless, 
scenes. They have unnecessarily sensational stories, show- 
ing that much of their object is to supply a wildcat demand 
rather than to improve that demand. The five-cent audi- 
ence is always interested in desirable subjects that will 
describe the occupations, customs, architecture, and chief 
racial characteristics of the nations. 

The five-cent audience is interested in wild-animal life 
and in historical views much more than in the ridiculous 
comedies that are not so suggestive as they are inane. Of 
course the police have been obliged at times to put a stop 
to certain subjects thrown upon the screen, not because 
of their outward suggestiveness but because of their lack 
of healthy moral. The Children's Court has had to con- 
sider cases of grand larceny inspired by the moving-pictures 
of a burglar. There have been petty thefts committed by 
children who for five cents have been taught the best way 
of getting what belongs to others. But as a general rule the 
nickelodeons, or moving-picture theatres, of which there are 
some three or four hundred in New York City, present a 
harmless bill of fare, if not a very educational one. 

After examining a number of catalogues of the different 
manufacturers, and bearing continually in mind that every 
moving-picture has been the result of actual performance, 
one is surprised to find the dangers that kinetoscopic actors 
have to risk in order to depict a given story. Every manu- 
facturer has his paid company of actors, and these have to 
be richly costumed just as though they were to give a per- 
formance on a regular stage. Historical plays are accurately 
mounted. Not only is scenery prepared, but the actors are 



212 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

likewise taken into the country where different localities are 
agreed upon for different situations. The trouble and expense 
in this respect are great. Only recently in Rochester, two 
automobiles met with an accident while rushing through 
the street illustrating for the kinetoscope the abduction of a 
girl. So that a manufacturer finds more profit in sending 
his photographers traveling throughout the world, making 
pictures of pageants, historical scenes, military and naval 
spectaculars, than in mounting rich productions himself. 

The kinetoscope, however, has had to adopt many methods 
of the theatre. One of the chief resorts is dramatization, 
so we find one concern making arrangements with the 
author and publisher of "Monsieur Beaucaire" and with 
the author and manager of " Raffles,*' and with the publisher 
and author of " Sherlock Holmes " for the privilege of dram- 
atizing. The kinetoscope dramatist, so to speak, takes 
wherever he can find. He outlines the story of "Treasure 
Island;" he adapts Boucicault's "The Shaughraun;" he 
makes a scenario of "Dora," based on Tennyson; he mod- 
ernizes "Oliver Twist;" he receives suggestions for Belasco's 
"Madame Butterfly;" he turns Hawtrey's "Messenger 
from Mars" into a sentimental tale of a selfish man; he 
takes the motive of "Othello" and puts it into a story that 
is the husk without the spirit of Shakespeare. In some cases, 
where a film has been particularly popular, he is forced to 
write a sequel. All this is not specially original work, but 
the moving-picture man expects eventually to encourage the 
high art of the pantomimist. And there is no doubt that 
eventually the American dramatist will himself write small 
plays for the kinetoscope that will accentuate pantomime. 



THE KINETOSCOPIC THEATRE 213 

III 

All of these subjects are thrown upon the screen for an 
eager audience. They are supplemented very often by a 
word of explanation from the manager, or by a short descrip- 
tion printed on the film. Sometimes the phonograph is 
called into use, but as yet it has not been very successfully 
employed. The manager must know his pictures, so that 
if a horse dashes upon the roadway he can imitate the clat- 
ter of hoofs; if a man falls from the roof he must represent 
the crash, just as whenever a clown falls at the circus the 
drum in the orchestra measures the extent of his hurt. An 
intelligent manager could inject much humor into his pic- 
tures from behind the screen, but he must be careful to keep 
the moral tone clean. He must also at times watch the 
realism of his play. In Chicago, according to the Moving 
Picture World, the police stopped the performance of " Mac- 
beth," and the report of the officer of the law is worth quoting: 
"I am not taking issue with Shakespeare," he said. "As a 
writer he was far from reproach, but he never looked into the 
distance and saw that his plays were going to be interpreted 
for the five-cent theatre. Shakespeare has a way of making 
gory things endurable, because there is so much of art and 
finish. But we cannot reproduce that. . . . When it gets 
on the canvas, it is worse than the bloodiest melodrama 
ever." 

The stabbing scene in the play is not predominant, but 
in a picture show it is the feature. By outdoing melodrama, 
the moving-picture has been one of the agents to kill melo- 
drama of the violent kind. In the play, the stabbing is for- 
gotten amidst the other exciting and artful and artistic 
creations that divert the imagination. On the canvas, you 
see the dagger enter and come out, the blood flow, and the 
wound that is left. 



214 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Thus it is essential to remember that in externaHzing a 
story for the kinetoscope, the bare details through their very 
nature sometimes become over-accentuated. 

The moving-picture has undoubtedly hurt the theatrical 
business. It steals the spoken drama and reduces it to 
motion. Every road company has its tale to tell of business 
ruined by the kinetoscope; every vaudeville house is forced 
to open its doors to celluloid drama. And when summer 
arrives, the legitimate playhouses turn themselves into nickel- 
odeons. In a way all this is a menace to the American 
dramatist. 



CHAPTER XIII 

THE PROGRESS OF THE MOVING-PICTURE SINCE 1910 

The moving-picture has proven itself to be such an agent 
of vast educational possibilities that one cannot dismiss it 
merely because it has also proven harmful in many direc- 
tions to the art of the theatre. We must reckon it as a social 
force which inevitably competes with the theatre as a busi- 
ness enterprise. 

The rapid progress of the moving-picture industry, which 
makes it now probably the second largest factor in the manu- 
facturing field, has been almost meteoric since the kineto- 
scope was first introduced as a novelty in 1893. Its history, 
as outlined in previous sections, presents an interesting meas- 
ure of the quickness with which the moving-picture was 
accepted by the public as an entertainment, as well as an 
educational feature. Like all new inventions, it has had to 
pass through many phases of unwise experiment and wild-cat 
speculation. Running along the lines of least resistance, it 
has had to pass through certain channels of rigorous censor- 
ship, until such laws were framed to govern it as would regu- 
late and define its status in the community. 

Since its first days, the moving-picture may be said to have 
made inroads on the energy of the theatre. It has so far 
developed beyond its nickelodeon stage that it has now 
created a special type of theatre for itself. Furthermore, it 
has drawn from the professional playhouses whatever talents 
it has required to further its popular success. 



216 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

When the subject was first treated in this volume, the 
moving-picture was just reaching out to the legitimate actor 
for cooperation. In the past few years almost the entire act- 
ing profession, at one time or another, has deserted the 
standards of legitimate drama and gone over to the ranks of 
celluloid business. There is scarcely an actor of note who 
has been able to withstand the financial allurements offered 
by moving-picture managers. Some of these actors have 
been won over through the improvement made in the me- 
chanical details of manufacture, whereby most artistic results 
can be obtained on the screen and fine details be registered 
by the lens. Not only that, but since nickelodeon days, when 
the cheapest kind of films were hastily put together by writers 
who were not then sure of the technique required for the 
scenario, there has been a decided improvement in the con- 
structive part of moving-picture plots; there has been more 
care bestowed on the actual structure of the entertainment. 

The increase in screen work; the enormous amount of 
capital involved, large sums being paid by rival companies 
in a cut-throat policy of competition; the cornering of actors 
and actresses by the moving-pictures, reminding one of the 
palmy days of the "star'* system, when Charles Frohman 
and Klaw & Erlanger, and other managers were corralling 
promising young players; — all of these activities show very 
clearly the importance attached, within the past five years, 
to the moving-picture industry in competition with the legiti- 
mate theatre. The familiar copyright notice is now stretched 
to include not only the right of translation, but dramatic and 
moving-picture rights, — a precaution necessary in view of 
the fact that managers, in unwise and unthinking haste, are 
trying to monopolize all fiction that will best suit their 
purposes. 

Granting, therefore, that the moving-picture has come to 
stay, we are concerned here only with its relation to theatri- 



MOVING-PICTURE SINCE 1910 217 

cal art and to the theatre itself. We must take it for granted 
that, since the days of the old peep-hole machine, there has 
been every effort made to put the moving-picture on a higher 
educational plane. By this, the managers have counteracted 
the cheapness of the entertainment that used to be offered 
in the nickelodeon. We must take it for granted also that, 
by slow degrees, due to the ingenuity of Thomas Edison and 
other inventors, the mechanism of the moving-picture has 
reached a high perfection of achievement. In addition, 
through successive attempts on the part of moving-picture 
managers to raise the character of the entertainment by pro- 
ducing the "Passion Play'' and by enlisting the artistic 
services of Sarah Bernhardt, the moving-picture has, in its 
artistic structure, been brought to a state of excellence which 
places it on an artistic footing. 

Granting all this, there is left for us to consider the advance 
in artistry since 1910, and the effect this has had on the 
theatre. 

The technique of the moving-picture has become a science. 
Many books have been written on the subject, probably the 
most instructive being that by Epes Winthrop Sargent, en- 
titled "The Technique of the Photoplay." Throughout the 
country there is a vast horde of people studying the structure 
of the screen scenario, and meeting with considerable success 
in placing manuscripts. W^ere one to ask the reason why the 
legitimate stage has not heard much within recent years from 
George Ade, one might say, not knowing how right the in- 
ference, that he was devoting some of his dramatic talents to 
the manufacturing of plots or captions for the moving-picture. 
It is demanding ingenuity in all directions. 

The elements in the moving-picture business discussed in 
the preceding pages have developed along separate lines and 
have made tremendous strides. Through the efforts of the 
Censorship Board, the comedy output has improved, and 



218 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

through the cooperation of the legitimate actor, the drama 
element has approached in delineation nearer to the legiti- 
mate stage. Since 1910, Daniel Frohman has devoted almost 
his entire energy in furthering the work of the Famous 
Players Film Company, and through his assistance the work 
of the moving-picture actor has deserved a greater claim to 
be called art. It is he who has helped to draw into the mov- 
ing-picture activity such actors as James O'Neill in " Monte 
Cristo," James K. Hackett in "The Prisoner of Zenda," 
and Viola Allen in " The Christian." One by one the differ- 
ent well-known plays have since these initial times been 
screened. But the managers have often failed to differenti- 
ate between the external drama of the moving-picture play 
and the intensive psychological drama which only the actor's 
finest work can reveal. This failure to differentiate was 
excellently seen at the time Mrs. Fiske appeared in her well- 
earned success, " Tess of the D 'Urbervilles." The difference 
was likewise apparent when Cyril Maude produced the screen 
picture of "Peer Gynt." One only has to see how far away 
from the original plot and artistic structure of a work of art 
the screen scenario must go to realize the wide difference in 
technique, and the tremendous liberties that must be taken. 
As a moving-picture critic declared, it would have been a 
staggering blow to Henrik Ibsen if he had been able to see 
what was done with his masterpiece, so great was the mass of 
interpolated scenes. 

The moving-picture at best is mechanical. It is based on 
"fake," on trickery, on excess action and emotion, on situa- 
tion rather than on psychology. Its technique consists in 
" switch backs " and " close ups " and " repetitions." Its suc- 
cess has been dependent, very largely, on its visual demands 
rather than on its intellectual demands. The moving-picture 
play, whether it be a dramatization of Victor Hugo's "Les 
Miserables," or Hawthorne's "The Scarlet Letter," pre- 



MOVING-PICTURE SINCE 1910 219 

sents an easy way of gaining an instantaneous impression of 
literature and drama. This impression passes through the 
eye rather than through the brain, and one is left at the end 
with no measure of the spiritual significance of the whole. 
We are given an area of action that excites, and oftentimes 
excites wrongly. 

I have been told by moving-picture actors that while, for a 
time, the technique of acting before the screen is of interest, 
because of its novelty, it soon becomes reduced to going 
through a mass of expert action rather than creating by the 
very finesse of acting. The fact that there are some players 
who fail to make a success in the moving-picture, whereas 
they have gained success on the legitimate stage, is sufficient 
proof that, as far as technique is concerned, the two arts are 
different and most likely conflicting. 

It has been my experience, in witnessing different plays on 
the screen, — especially those I have previously witnessed 
on the stage, — that the larger the sweep of emotion, the 
larger the panorama of atmosphere, the larger the opportu- 
nity for spectacular effects, the more successful will the mov- 
ing-picture be. I have seen a dramatization of "Treasure 
Island," and I have seen "Treasure Island" on the screen. 
The two cannot be compared in the scope of their pictorial 
effects, but I had a much clearer impression of the unity of 
the Stevenson tale from the theatre than I did from the cellu- 
loid drama. In the latter I was carried on a real ship upon 
the real sea. In the former I was given a painted side of a 
ship, but I heard the actual voices of the pirates, and the 
warmth of their personality came across the footlights, and 
my interest was not scattered over such a wide area. My 
attention was not called away to successive pictures. I wit- 
nessed a production of Jules Verne's "Twenty Thousand 
Leagues under the Sea." I was given pictures of deep-sea 
life that no imagination on my part could ever have conjured 



220 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

up, even with the aid of Jules Verne's descriptions. The 
story, as outhned in a cheap scenario, was badly constructed 
and unsatisfactorily evolved, but the externals of the story 
were beyond mere words, I have seen Bronson Howard's 
" Shenandoah," both as a play and as a moving-picture. The 
latter excelled the former by the very opportunity the situa- 
tions afforded the moving-picture writer to build on Mr. 
Howard's scenario and create pictorially the spirit of Civil 
War times — that same spirit which dominated and made of 
such educational value Griffith's gigantic "The Birth of a 
Nation," based on Thomas Dixon's "The Clansman." 

We have heard marvellous statements in regard to the 
salaries paid to moving-picture actors. Billie Burke turned 
from the legitimate stage at the call of $4,000 a week for 
a long continuous engagement, and surprising perquisites on 
the side. Gcraldine Farrar was willing to sacrifice some 
of her prestige at the Metropolitan Opera House at the call 
of celluloid finance. And she has been the heroine in a screen 
version of "Carmen" and of "Joan of Arc," advertised the 
country wide more extensively than the Metropolitan Opera 
House could ever possibly advertise her appearance in 
Opera. In fact, so important was Miss Farrar's entry into 
the moving-picture field regarded by the management of the 
Metropolitan, that a rule was made that hereafter the Opera 
House should share in the profits of its "stars" who con- 
sented to do moving-picture work. 

The danger to the legitimate theatre in this wide-spread 
recruiting of the actor may be seen in Walter P. Eaton's 
facetious way of describing Miss Farrar's appearance in 
"Carmen." He writes: "If you can get the fair Geraldine 
for a jitney, with a real bull thrown in, why spend five bucks 
to see her at the Opera House without any bull at all?" 

This humorous statement explains the danger of the mov- 
ing-picture's grip on the theatre-going public. There are no 



MOVING-PICTURE SINCE 1910 221 

economic comparisons between the two; only contrasts. 
Many efforts were made on the part of managers to give 
enormous productions; they charged tw^o dollars for the 
evening's entertainment, as in the case of D'Annunzio's 
"Cabiria." But the fact is, the moving-picture hits the le- 
gitimate theatre hardest on the side of its very cheapness. 
Though prices have risen since the days of the nickelodeon, 
they have scarcely risen above twenty-five cents. Through 
the chain of smaller theatres, which shows the moving-picture 
organizing in circuits like the legitimate theatre, these pic- 
tures are oftentimes offered at even cheaper rates. 

We learn from certain authoritative sources that one-third 
the population in Dallas, Texas, goes to the moving-picture 
daily; that one-fifth the population of Cleveland does the 
same thing. If this is so, is it right for us to argue that all of 
them go because they like the moving-picture, or because it 
is the only form of entertainment they can afford? Is it right 
for us to infer that were it possible, economically, for Geral- 
dine Farrar in "Carmen" to be seen in one house at a nomi- 
nal price, while the moving-picture of "Carmen" was being 
played in another at the same price, people would choose the 
moving-picture in preference to Geraldine Farrar? Yet we 
can carry the argument still further, and herein lies another 
direct point inimical to the theatre. People, economically 
deprived of paying five dollars to hear Geraldine Farrar sing 
"Carmen," may argue that the difference between twenty- 
five cents in seeing her on the screen and five dollars in seeing 
her at an Opera House — which difference is partly a measure 
of her personality — is not worth the sacrifice. If one ask 
how about the voice, we would add that it is possible to hear 
"Carmen" on the Victor machine at a nominal sum. 

In other words, there is no doubt that the actor who goes 
into the moving-picture, and yet who retains a love for le- 
gitimate acting, loses much more than is gained by the 



222 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

monetary lure. For, in the exploitation of personality on the 
screen, one decreases the value of personality in the theatre. 

The moving-picture business, if one stop to consider its 
organization carefully, is in the same state the theatrical 
business was in at the time the Theatrical Trust was in full 
power. There is wild-cat competition, there is a discounting 
of real intellectual planning, there is a vast waste of time, 
energy, and money, and there is a cheap rush after novelty. 

The moving-picture is self-consciously making use' of the 
theatre. Those actors who are in the moving-picture work, 
and yet who are outspoken in their criticism of it, are candid 
in their belief that it is enervating to act before the camera. 
Whereas at first they thought what they lost in power of vocal 
expression they would gain in power of pantomime, they 
soon found such was not the case. This truth was brought 
home to me when Winthrop Ames produced "Pierrot the 
Prodigal," exquisitely done in pantomime by the Belgian 
actor, Paul Clerget, and a company of adequate players. It 
was then that I was able to contrast the methods of real 
pantomime with the methods used on the screen. It was 
then forced in upon me that the moving-picture had utterly 
failed in one vital particular. The art of pantomime is truly 
mimetic, based on a keen appreciation of the external form 
of inward emotion; but the pantomime of the moving-picture 
is entirely kinetic. 

Somewhere, I have come across the statement made by a 
manager regarding waste in the film industry. It is worthy 
of consideration. He said: "For every dollar spent in this 
plant, at least fifty cents is lost in not driving to capacity. I 
admit that a studio is not a factory, but can you picture any 
mill business, for instance, where the operatives loaf on full- 
time pay, while the owner, the designer, and the foreman 
plan next year's patterns? Well, that is what we do in the 
moving-picture game. We are forever wasting to-day's time, 



MOVING-PICTURE SINCE 1910 223 

planning on something newer and bigger for to-morrow, next 
week, next month, next year." 

The manufacturers of moving-pictures have, in the past 
five years, learned their lesson. They have become aware 
of the necessity of paying attention to the art quality of a 
picture. Inasmuch as they have lost what the medium of 
the word gives in fine quality of psychology and in intellectual 
stimulus, these managers now try to make up for the loss by 
the greater time and attention paid to the pictorial value of the 
scene. They also aim for the editorial timeliness of the topic. 
Defining the characteristics of the moving-picture, Brian 
Hooker states that it must remain a general or popular art; 
being a photograph that moves, it has advanced beyond the 
stage of mechanical novelty. In other words, people have 
come to be more interested in the thing represented by move- 
ment than in the actual mechanical movement. One empha- 
sizes very rightly the big possibilities of the moving-picture 
as an instrument for visualizing current events, keeping the 
public in touch with daily happenings. In other words, the 
"animated newspaper" is more and more being made pos- 
sible by the reportorial use of the camera. Frederic C. Howe, 
Commissioner of Immigration, was discerning when, in dis- 
cussing the National Board of Censorship, and the work done 
by the moving-picture in decreasing the patronage of the 
saloons and in increasing the circulation of better books in 
the Library, remarked : ** The moving-picture show is not only 
Democracy's theatre; it is a great educational agency, and 
it is likely to become a propagandist agency of unmeasured 
possibilities." The newspaper quality of the moving-picture, 
therefore, has been taken into consideration by the Board of 
Censorship in the framing of certain specific rules governing 
that body. 

Nowhere has the value of the moving-picture, as a medium 
of timeliness, been better illustrated (1917) than by the num- 



224 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

berless films sent direct from the front, showing the warring 
nations. For the first time, history in action will be visualized 
for generations to come — scenes taken not only from every 
quarter of the land, but panoramic views taken by the aero- 
plane corps. The moving-picture has placed before the 
commanding generals information which the scouts of old 
could never have gathered in so short a time. 

It is here that one sees the democratic grip of the moving- 
picture on the masses. But however much the pictures may 
have improved as mere pictures, as stage groups, and in 
their scenic effects, the fact still remains that, as a theatre 
proposition, the moving-picture has not been able to outrival 
finesse of acting or to rob the artist in the theatre of his 
human value. 

Scenarios made from plays which have met success on the 
stage have more or less distorted every artistic value of the 
drama. One can imagine what the manipulation of "Peter 
Pan" on the screen would be. Mary Pickford's appearance 
in Eleanor Gates's "The Poor Little Rich Girl'' is another 
excellent example of how a delicate idea may be choked to 
death. 

I do not deny that it will be interesting for future genera- 
tions, not having been able to witness certain actors, to have 
in their possession such records as the moving-picture affords. 
There is no doubt that such an actress as Madame Bernhardt 
has always had a technique which the screen can preserve 
apart from the value of her personality. It is to be regretted 
that the moving-picture had not been brought to its present 
pitch of excellence during the lifetime of Henry Irving or 
Richard Mansfield, both men marked with mannerisms which 
were surmounted by splendid technique. The romantic brag- 
gadocio of Otis Skinner, as seen in such plays as Henry Arthur 
Jones's "Cock o' the Walk" or Edward Knoblauch's "Kis- 
met," might likewise be preservable in celluloid. But Mr, 



MOVING-PICtURE SINCE 1910 225 

Skinner has not yet deserted the ranks, and even should he, 
we doubt whether he will ever relinquish his conviction that, 
however perfect the moving-picture, it will always lack the 
human equation. To him one will always be witnessing the 
operation of a machine. 

Yet, in spite of its drawbacks, one cannot but recognize 
that the moving-picture fills a decided place in a Democracy. 
George Bernard Shaw, writing on the subject, suggests that 
its interest lies " in the new opening for the mass of dramatic 
talent formerly disabled by incidental deficiencies of one sort 
or another that do not matter in the picture theatre." Such 
may be the case, but the great handicap to the legitimate 
stage has been that the moving-picture did not confine itself 
to the services of those who were of no use in the legitimate 
theatre. It has made ever-increasing inroads on those who 
have dramatic talent. One can thoroughly agree with Mr. 
Shav/ in the following isolated quotations taken from his 
argument: "By accustoming the poorest playgoers to genu- 
ine realism in scenery at so low a cost of representation and 
reproduction that our film companies can afford to spend 
sums on the original production that would ruin the most 
princely actor-manager, it reduces the would-be deceptive 
realistic scenery of the spoken drama to absurdity, both 
artistically and economically, and thereby gives a powerful 
and elevating impulse to the restoration of the conditions 
under which the theatre attained its highest and freest 
point. . . . The film drama will compete so successfully with 
the spoken drama that it will drive it to its highest ground, 
and close all paths to it except those in which its true glory 
lies; that is, the path of high human utterance, of great 
thoughts and great wit, of poesy and of prophecy." 

One quite agrees with all that can be said in extenuation of 
the value of the moving-picture. But so far it has not found 
itself as an art; so far it has not defined its own particular 



226 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

realm except as an educational possibility; so far it has not 
convinced us that it will ever be able to overcome, in dealing 
with great art, the defect so well suggested in a simple ques- 
tion asked by Mr. Shaw. That question is : " What becomes 
of the difference between Shakespeare and Sheriden Knowles 
on the film?" 

With that, we leave the subject of moving-pictures to the 
tender mercies of the moving-picture enthusiasts.^ 

* That the subject of the moving-picture has received adequate 
attention by the magazine writer is evident by consulting the 
" Dramatic Index " for the past five years. The art of the cinema has 
been treated in all of its phases. Two suggestive volimies are 
those by Hugo Mtinsterberg on ''The Photoplay: A Psychological 
Study," and Vachell Lindsay's "The Art of the Moving Picture." 
Consult also: "The Magnates of the Motion Picture," by Isaac F. 
Marcosson, Munsey, 48:209. "The Movies," by George Bernard 
Shaw, Metropolitan Magazine, 42:23. "Actor Snatching and the 
Movies," by Walter P. Eaton, American Magazine, 80:32. "Mov- 
ing-Picture Authors," by Walter P. Eaton, American Magazine, 
81:34. "The Art of the Moving-Picture Play," Clayton Hamilton, 
Bookman, 23:512. 



CHAPTER XIV 

SHOULD THE POETIC DRAMA BE DRAMATIZED? 

We are being constantly reminded of the inadequacy of 
the so-called poetic drama to fill the essential demands of 
the theatre; and, whenever the poetic drama fails to hold 
the boards, we are prone to deplore the insufficiency of 
public taste. Yet we are servile imitators, and show no 
willingness to look behind the traditions with which we are 
often shackled. There is a preconceived notion that some- 
thing is lacking in the person who declaims against the 
literary drama, the closet drama, or the poetic drama. Can- 
dor makes us confess that there is as much ignorance on the 
part of those who are against as of those who are for it. 
The mistaken attitude assumed by both ranks is founded upon 
a contradiction of terms and upon the identification of the 
<;onventions of a type with the essence of the poetic principle. 

In our consideration, we would not proceed as far as Poe 
in that peculiar essay of his on " The American Drama," 
where he suggests that " the first thing necessary is to burn 
or bury the 'old models,' and to forget, as quickly as 
possible, that ever a play has been penned;" we are too 
thoroughly in advocacy of an historical perspective for 
dramatic criticism. But we do believe with Coleridge that 
"it is to be lamented that we judge of books (as well as of 
plays) by books, instead of referring what we read to our 
own experience." 

All things of the theatre should be applied to the theatre. 



228 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

An unactable drama is a contradiction of terms; a poetic 
drama is simply one phase of a larger and more inclusive 
art. Very recently a college professor declared that the 
" playhouse has no monopoly of the dramatic form/' while 
another, in just refutation, called attention to the fact that 
Byron, Landor, Shelley, Coleridge, Johnson, Tennyson, and 
Browning, whose dramas are relegated to the closet, if not 
to the shelf, wrote for the stage and failed. 

There is only one thing intended for the playhouse, and 
that is — drama; whatever its form, whatever its content, 
it must satisfy the conditions through which it has elected 
to reach the human spirit. To the university man we would 
say that poetry has no monopoly of the poetic spirit; that 
conventions have deceived us into believing the poetic 
drama to consist of such rhythm, of such rhyme, of such 
length, when in reality its vital measure is the exaltation of 
the human spirit in the light of truth and beauty. 

The modern theatre is focussing its rays closer and closer 
upon life — never upon anything else; it makes no differ- 
ence whether you are outside the veil with Ibsen peering 
in; or inside the veil with Maeterlinck peering out — the 
active being, spirit, intellect, or flesh is concerned with its 
protagonist. 

According to our idea, the poet has not only misinterpreted 
the functions of drama, but has limited the essence of the 
poetic to a manner of expression; he has not only been 
content to deal with life in the abstract, but he has departed 
from life in search for beauty. Despite these conditions 
and these counter-elements, we are safe in claiming, none- 
theless, that the time is propitious for the poetic drama. 
It will never come from the poet who lacks the dramatic 
sense, but it will be born of the dramatist in whom the poetic 
impulse is quick. 

Whenever a poet turns playwright, we may be sure that 



im^ ^^- 



/ 



":^ 




Photo, by Byrd Studio, Cambridge, Mass. 

Josephine Preston Peabody 



DRAMATIZING POETIC DRAMA 229 

we are to be treated to a baffling maze of half-formed ideas. 
It does not do to have the dramatist pause in his essential 
stage structure in order to listen to his own music. The 
stage is progressive, not contemplative; direct, not indefinite; 
particular, not general. Remove from it the power to hold, 
and it is no longer a theatre in the sense that people would 
have it. 

Such drama, I claim, is twice removed in its relationship 
to the bare boards of the stage, by reason of its surcharged 
beauty and by reason of its classic form. For the actor, it 
is only an exercise in reading; for the audience, it has the 
heavy odor of crowded flowers, badly arranged. The poet, 
turned dramatist, is condescending toward the stage; and 
he has added nothing to the theatre that it did not already 
know; has gained nothing from the theatre, even though 
there was much to gain. He has put poetry into the form of 
drama, without having any drama in his poetry. 

When Josephine Preston Peabody's ^ " The Piper " won 
the Stratford prize, and was played at the Shakespeare 
Memorial Theatre by Benson and his company, in the 
Spring of 1910, many people proclaimed that blank verse 
had come into its own again. No manager in America before 
then would touch it for presentation, and it was once de- 
clined by the New Theatre, which hastened later to pro- 
duce it. There is much to say in extenuation of the American 
attitude. "The Piper" is drama twice removed — because 
of its beauty, and because of its form, loosely knit. There 
is also a pronounced indefiniteness of idea. 

Naturally, Mrs. Marks (Miss Peabody) has some justi- 
fication in her confidence that she has given the stage a 
notable poetic contribution; naturally she has theories 
regarding the province of poetry on the stage. But her 

» Mrs. Marks is also the authpr qi "Marlow^" (1901) mi "Th§ 
Wiag8" (1905). s ^f - . . 



230 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

technical ideas are wrong, and not in accord with the mod- 
ern practice of the theatre. Maybe, as a poet, she is right 
in her practice, but it is a rock upon which she will even- 
tually founder. She will there find the battered wrecks 
of Thomas Bailey Aldrich's "Judith of Bethulia," of Percy 
Mackaye's "Sappho and Phaon," wrecks beautiful in their 
dramatic inertia, clogged with the passive beauty of simile 
and metaphor. 

" The Piper," as Mrs. Marks conceived it, had a supreme 
evidence of vitality about it — its permanent legendary 
character. We have the nursery interpretation of it in 
picture books, in Jacob's "More English Fairy Tales" and 
in Lang's "Red Fairy Book"; and we have Browning's 
poem. But the structure of the piece, as Mrs. Marks con- 
ceived it, detracts from the Piper's simple nature, from 
his real historic character. In search for some deep phi- 
losophy of life, the author mixes many minor stories of her 
own invention into the main threads of an attractive legend, 
and meanders through long and weary speeches. 

"The Piper" is no play in the theatre sense, even though 
the personality of such an actress as Miss Edith Wynne 
Matthison has helped to make it a success. It might have 
been greater, had Mrs. Marks not been the poet so utterly; 
had she been willing to thrash out the meaning, and to remain 
constant to one line of thought. And that is the danger of 
poetry on the stage; it is too discursive and too full of un- 
essential beauty. For this reason, Mr. Moody, who had 
met with success in "The Great Divide" (1907) because 
of its theatrical effectiveness, met with failure in "The 
Faith Healer" (1909) because of its vagueness. 

To-day two facts are evident: the realism which is sym- 
bolized by Ibsen, and the symbolism which is realized by 
Maeterlinck have not only intensified dramatic material 
and narrowed external action, but they have opened a 



DRAMATIZING POETIC DRAMA 231 

channel for the actor which only his genius can compass. 
The worn-out models of the theatre have been confiscated, 
along with the old-fashioned theatrical methods of inter- 
pretation. Introspective significance has decreased the 
violent reaction, and the most beautiful acting has now be- 
come the most quiet acting. 

How many of us have returned again and again to Lamb's 
essay on the "Tragedies of Shakespeare," in which occurs 
the significant passage, anent the impracticableness of 
playing "Hamlet" — a passage which reads: "Nine parts 
in ten of what Hamlet does are transactions between himself 
and his moral sense," — transactions reduced to mere words 
for the sake of the reader. This leads one to believe that 
an Elizabethan commentator may some day issue an edition 
of Shakespeare with passages, called by Lamb "silent 
meditations," printed in italics to serve as psychological stage 
directions, after the manner of Shaw. 

Nevertheless, there is something in Lamb's argument. His 
recent adherent is Maeterlinck, who likewise believes in 
the unsuitableness of unseen forces for expressive interpre- 
tation. They must be quietly realized. Lamb and Maeter- 
linck have both found the theatre incapable of solving the 
problem of meditation on the stage, yet the poetic drama 
must of necessity deal with just those phases of character 
and of destiny which are hardest to reconcile with custom 
and habit and familiar, commonplace movement. 

Dramatic literature of recent years represents a revulsion 
from conventional notions which have grown up around 
ancient models. Quotidian happenings in the development 
of the individual have been raised to high dignity. All of 
this change has brought a consequent change in the poetic 
drama; the scope of the playwright has become wider with 
the development throughout the world of more democratic 
tendencies in society. The entire progression is indicated 



232 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

by Maeterlinck's statement that whereas once there was 
no poetry in drama save that which narrated the passion of 
a lover like Romeo or Tristan or Paolo, now a cottager 
seated alone by a lighted lamp in the midst of the forces of 
Fate, is more vitally true, and more profoundly significant 
for us all. Violent activity must be attached to a spiritual 
centre, to what Coleridge terms a point of relative rest. 

The poetic drama is therefore in the process of adjustment; 
when we demand it for our stage, we do so with precon- 
ceived notions of literary excellence and of poetic fervor 
which, when put to test, fail to stimulate the active curiosity 
of external vision, and clog the dramatic progression by an 
overplus of " sublime images," — in themselves demanding 
a slow mind. Drama moves continuously; the poetic drama, 
with its demand upon imagination, its appeal to the moral 
judgment, and its lack of "corporal dimensions," requires 
to be read. The mind of the reader must be allowed to turn 
back; the mind of an audience can never turn back. 

The poet who writes for the stage should ever remember 
that the average theatre judges him by his explicit word; 
through this is the implicit meaning caught. Most attempts 
of the unskilled playwrights to deal with symbolism have 
resulted in an inevitable quality of indefiniteness — mere 
decoration without the fundamental surety of nature be- 
neath. For even imagination has its consistency; we under- 
stand only in so far as we ourselves have experienced. Hence, 
when Lowell claimed that to be a mystic gave no one the 
license to be misty, he meant that no matter how deeply 
ingrained are the elements of life in art, they must not baffle 
one who is sufficiently developed to be on that plane of 
comprehension. 

It is well to approach our subject from these various 
indirect channels, for the poetic drama is not a special form, 
per se; but, to our manner of thinking, any play in which 



DRAMATIZING POETIC DRAMA 233 

humanity is raised to the heights of greatest spiritual ac- 
tivity or fulfilment. Poetry, therefore, becomes only one 
of the numerous factors that make drama what it is. Blank 
verse does not constitute the poetic drama, though some 
may think so; heightened speech, so beyond the realm of 
consistent usage, is not its distinguishing mark. Poetry 
may only hope to have its significant place on the stage 
when it expresses spiritual quality and psychological strength, 
amidst environment which allows of such intensive develop- 
ment, and yet which remains familiar. 

" Art for art's sake," said Mr. Heme, who in America has 
thus far come nearest giving us the poetry of the common 
life, "is mere decoration, but I will not take the truth for 
truth's sake with the realist, unless it be the essential truth." 
Hence, our new poetic drama will occupy a position much 
like the oft-conceived " third empire," so carefully developed 
by Ibsen; consistent art with consistent truth, art con- 
sistent with truth, essential art with essential truth — these 
are the statements. Ibsen has shown the vital meaning in 
the common thing; Emerson has told the common man 
of the vital thing. From the mystic and the realist com- 
bined, we in America should be able to evolve a poetic drama. 
We are not lacking the content but the form. 

The inevitable conclusion stares us in the face. Our great 
English poets wrote for the theatre, and most of them failed ; 
Macready thrust Browning to the fore; Irving preserved 
Tennyson for a while. It is wrong to say, as though there 
were a constitutional incompatibility between the two, that 
the reason why these men failed lay in the fact that liter- 
ature is divorced from the stage. The real matter is that 
the poet, however much he might love the theatre, has never 
mastered the technique. The miniature painter and the 
mural artist do not use the same brush, though the latter 
might find it necessary at times to employ a hair line. 



234 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Shall we, therefore, have to confess that the poetic drama 
needs to be dramatized. This is only a facetious way of 
saying that out of a mass of beauty and fancy, of imagi- 
nation and meditation, the poetic drama must be lifted into 
a plane of kinship with common sense and human develop- 
ment. In Chicago, as I have already noted, " Macbeth " 
was given before a nickelodeon audience in moving-pictures; 
the police had to stop the performance, so violent the action; 
the whole spiritual quality of the piece had been sacrificed 
for the shell. The poetic drama has suffered from the other 
extreme ! 

Coleridge, metaphysician though he was, nevertheless 
realized the need for a reconciliation between characters as 
they exist ordinarily with their manner and speech, and 
the same characters idealized in proportion, stressed in 
language, filling a large destiny rather than doing an ordin- 
ary deed. Until Ibsen arrived, we had only a vague notion 
as to the utilization of the commonplace on the stage; we 
were told by the text-books that a play dealt only with the 
significant moments in the development of the individual 
— and by significant they meant violent or picturesque. 
The melodramatists abused this idea, the romanticists and 
sentimentalists conventionalized it. Then Ibsen, even 
though tarred with the pitch of Scribe, wrote "A Doll's 
House," and soon followed it with the white-heat realism 
of "Ghosts," and brought the soul out of its shreds and 
patches into the familiar light of day — familiar and some- 
times cruel, though hardly unnecessary. 

The little moments in life pulsed with vitality; Ibsen 
used the ordinary speech of intercourse, and surcharged it 
with spiritual intensity. Curiously, before Ibsen was known 
in America, Mr. Heme had exemplified by his "Margaret 
Fleming" what depths lay in the tragic of the common- 
place; he had instinctively worked out for himself, despite 



DRAMATIZING POETIC DRAMA 235 

the fact he was forced back into the old subterfuges of the 
melodramatist, the whole theory of the active presence of 
hidden forces — a recognition which quickens the entire 
gamut of life and raises the ordinary into the realm of the 
poetic. 

When Mrs. LeMoyne presented " A Blot in the 'Scutch- 
eon," the one of Browning's plays nearest stage require- 
ments, the weight and beauty of the lines turned the audience 
into passive listeners of something being read aloud. We 
forgive in opera what we will not countenance in drama; 
long recitative passages are colored by music which serves 
as the necessary stimulant to emotion. The poetic drama 
popularly conceived, needs to be relieved of its overweight. 
Percy Mackaye's "Sappho and Phaon" and Stephen 
Phillips's " Ulysses " suffered from this accentuation of beauty 
to the detriment of motive power; Hauptmann's "The 
Sunken Bell," with all the excellence of its symbolic texture, 
dragged in the moralizing speeches which dulled the mind. 
The same heaviness is evident in Ridgely Torrence's "El 
Dorado" (1903) and "Abelard and Heloise" (1907). The 
need for dramatization is commensurate with the wearying 
effect upon the average audience. 

Maeterlinck, after having tested a theory of the unex- 
pressed in drama, so marvelously worked out in "The In- 
truder," finally arrived at the conclusion that "whatever 
the temptation, he [the dramatist] dare not sink into in- 
activity, become mere philosopher or observer;" he learned 
through experience with his "puppet theatre" that no 
situation should be held in abeyance to profundity of speech. 
The poet, according to Coleridge, has handicapped his success 
in drama through certain self-conceit; he has forced the actor, 
who is supposed to interpret character, to stand still and 
read long descriptions of his own psychology, when, if he 
be a real actor, he could have suggested all by a flash of 



236 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

expression or a gesture. It is true, as Henry Arthur 
Jones intimates, that realism is only justifiable where there 
is spiritual beauty beyond; poetic license has too often 
tried to find justification in moral degradation, defying all 
the laws of reality and of truth. 

If this be so, we may turn to Shaw's comments on Shake- 
speare, the essence of which is expressed in his belief that 
wherever emotional climaxes are reached, " we find passages 
which are Rossinian in their reliance on symmetry of melody 
and impressiveness of march to redeem poverty of meaning." 
His quarrel with the theatre of Shakespeare is our quarrel 
with the general conception of the position poetry occupies 
in drama. Most poets regard the drama, not as a reflex, a 
transcript of life, but as a commentary on life, expressed 
through the medium of dialogue; they subject everything 
to their own artistic needs, believing, no doubt, that the 
predominance of true poetry will cover up the lack of drama, 
whereas it only serves to accentuate the fact that drama 
is not there. 

The commendable feature about William Vaughn 
Moody's "The Great Divide" is found in his proper, though 
not perfect, use of the poetic content in the dramatic mould; 
it possesses elemental largeness, and its characters are hu- 
man, retaining their average proportions in the midst of their 
spiritual aspirations and expansion. Mr. Mackaye's "The 
Scarecrow," based on Hawthorne, attempts almost success- 
fully to combine the hidden force with the outward expression, 
but he does not quite reach the texture of New England 
conscience.^ 

A surprising proportion of any poetic play deals either with 
irrelevant imagery, or with mental introspection which 
precedes action. From speech, it falls into declamation; 

1 In its acted form, however, with Mr. Frank Reicher in the title 
role, it was most effective. 



DRAMATIZING POETIC DRAMA 237 

from character it passes into nothing more than a vehicle for 
theory or poetic idea, cut aloof from the essential meaning 
of the moment. That is what Israel Zangwill's " The Melt- 
ing Pot" suffers from, apart from his abominable method 
of seeking humor. His hero does not express the conviction 
which lies within, but utters Mr. Zangwill's apostrophes 
upon that migration of races whose fusion will some day 
constitute the American people. A note of insincerity 
results where bombast predominates; Dickens's American 
Eagle crying ha, ha! is not an agreeable picture. Yet speech 
after speech, poetic in scope, was thrust upon Zangwill's 
hero relentlessly. 

We know that life is greater than drama; that art, what- 
ever its form, is only a means of expressing our comprehension 
of the life in which we find ourselves. But most of our poets 
who have attempted drama have not realized how close 
to life drama really is. It is not a vehicle, but an expression; 
it does not hold, but it gives out. "Peter Pan" represents 
the genius of Barrie, dramatizing Wordsworth's "Heaven 
lies about us in our infancy," in terms of common experience 
and of eternal truth. "What Every Woman Knows" and 
"Quality Street" do not' defy the laws of the familiar, yet 
both plays are shot through with the poetry of sentiment. 

Far from disparaging the poetic drama, we claim that 
our stage thirsts for it. Yet we do not blame the manager 
for being wary of the conventional form, which has neither 
profited by Maeterlinck nor learned of Ibsen. The pulse of 
life throbs through the land; there is in our mundane exist- 
ence the call to higher things; from the wheat fields year 
after year comes the cry for labor — the epic cry from the 
soil. The poet stands confused before the dilemma. " How," 
he questions, "shall I reconcile the poetic language with 
the man of wage, with the machinery of utility, with the 
average moments of life?" Man has his exalted feelings. 



238 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

even when his feet are firmly planted upon earth. I remem- 
ber once walking along a country road with Clyde Fitch; 
we passed a fleshy, grimy beer-driver in the open field, with 
a flower in his apology for a buttonhole. "There," said 
Mr. Fitch, "is the poetry of ordinary existence." 

At supreme moments, language, thought, spirit, become 
supreme. The blacksmith may talk in the poetry of his 
uncouth prose; but no one can take from him the purity 
of his feeling when his feeling is pure, or the high resolution 
of his character, when circumstance and situation prompt 
it to act, or the strength of his primal being when he is strong. 
The poet must not mould his character to suit a precon- 
ceived notion; in drama one must be true to life rather 
than to the conventions of art. We know of no form for the 
theatre other than drama — drama which is divided into 
relative grades, dependent upon the predominance of certain 
artistic qualities. Even in dealing with the unseen, Maeter- 
linck never fails to refer to "active" forces. Only on rare 
occasions does the average person speak aloud to himself; 
that is why the soliloquy has fallen into ill-favor. And so, 
one by one, the conventions of drama are disproven. 

We need another name for that play which we have been 
accustomed to call "poetic drama"; we need to discover 
that the old form has falsified beauty, since it has taken it 
away from character, from life. Only when we have written a 
real drama in which poetry occupies its essential position 
in relation to life, will we cease in our belief that the poetic 
drama needs to be dramatized. 



CHAPTER XV 

SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, AND FOOTLIGHT 

It is a healthy condition for us to have reached in drama, 
when we become conscious of its presence in the community, 
and when we are furthermore made aware of its power, 
both positive and negative. For after all, it is not through 
accident that the theatre was established, but as a result 
of the fundamental instinct for expression and as a symbol 
of some over-towering emotion, within the experience of 
us all. The old tribal vocero, or songs of grief, so excellently 
discussed by Professor Gummere, while more primitive 
in form and more elemental in idea than the modern civic 
response to condition, are not so very far removed in the 
communal pyschology which necessitated them, from the 
present social response which Le Bon has analyzed in his 
treatise on " The Crowd." ^ 

Hence, the theatre is founded upon what might almost 
be termed an immutable masonry of human need. We could 
change Pinero's wisdom in "Mid-Channel," and direct it to 
our ends by saying that since man and woman and the shape 
of a hen's egg are the constant facts of life, the theatre is 

1 See chapter in Clayton Hamilton's "The Theory of the 
Theatre" on "The Psychology of Theatre Audiences," pp. 30-58; 
also W. P. Eaton's "The American Stage of To-day," in which 
there is a chapter on "Crowds and Mr. Hamilton," pp. 282-90; 
also Professor Brander Matthews' "A Study of the Drama," Chap- 
ter IV, "The Influence of the Audience," pp. 68-91. 



240 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

placed beyond human endowment, and finds its sanction 
in, nay more, is coincident with, the very act of living. 

There is no doubt that we have, for the instant, lost sight 
of the reasons why the theatre exists, even though we are 
growing more and more conscious of its importance as a 
social institution and as a cultural and an educational force; 
we are also not quite sure in our minds whether we have a 
right to enjoy what we enjoy, even though public decency 
bars "The Moulin Rouge" from the theatre, and establishes 
a censorship for moving-pictures. 

In our attitude toward the playhouse, we are constantly 
contradicting ourselves, possibly because we find, with 
Goethe, that it is easier to do than to think. That is char- 
acteristic of communal restlessness, if Le Bon is right in 
his assertion that an idea must be transmuted into action; 
therefore, excessive sentiment and symbols are representa- 
tive of popular taste. 

The theatre is not only a source of amusement, but it 
should be a source of the right kind of amusement; that is 
the only way in which it will ever become permanently 
instructive; through vital interest rather than through set 
and deadly purpose will it ever hope to mould public opinion. 
If the Mayor of Philadelphia was over-cautious in prohibit- 
ing the New Theatre company from presenting Galsworthy's 
"Strife" in that city, for fear that its labor motive would 
draw fire from the car strikers then at war (1910), the New 
Theatre was unwise in heralding its mission — which was 
to clear the atmosphere of Philadelphia with a little of Gals- 
worthy's philosophy about capital and labor. 

Yet the incident is significant, for it points to one of the 
essential functions of the theatre — to prompt civic thought; 
and it likewise indicates its true relation to the civic body. 
It is necessary to emphasize these conditions, inasmuch 
as our present discussion is to deal with communal con^ 
gGiousne§§ of art and eivlc interest ia art. 



SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, FOOTLIGHT 241 

Never, within the past twenty years, have we had more 
cause to be encouraged than over the present status of drama 
in this country. This is not due to the efforts of the Froh- 
mans, the Shuberts, or any other theatrical concern, although 
many of their productions have been good; it is not because 
of the existence of a New Theatre, though the presence of 
such an institution was an incentive to high endeavor; it 
is not due to the special faddist who takes up drama, though 
such patronizing may improve the dilettante without harm- 
ing the theatre. But beneath these outward activities flows 
the deep and abiding current of our natures, and when a 
whole people's sense of life becomes quickened, when its 
intelligence grows keener, its emotion more clearly defined, 
its specific knowledge of an institution more marked — in 
other words, when there is centred upon the theatre, as 
emanating from an interested public, a radium spot of under- 
standing, the civic consciousness smarts under the necessity 
for maintaining some standard of theatrical taste. 

At first glance, this condition may not be evident, but 
we only have to ask ourselves why — apart from public 
love of novelty — we are interested in revivals, to reach 
some basis for hope that our theatre public has awakened 
from its slothfulness, its indifference, its prejudice. There 
were profound humanity and deep, universal spirituality 
in "Everyman" when first it was brought to this country; 
no amount of archaeology could destroy its universal ap- 
plication. There was delicate realization of the poetry of 
motion, when the Greek dances, so charmingly interpreted 
by Isadora Duncan, were first offered to the public. The 
fact that these dances have been overdone to the point of 
gross suggestiveness does not alter our belief in the dance 
as an undying expression of communal emotion. 

In the history of the past ten years, the many revivals, 
offered to the theatre-goers have developed an interest in 



242 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the historical phase of the drama, have encouraged the 
collegiate body to reproduce — in the spirit of accuracy — 
old dramas, rather than waste energy on some pale imitation 
of the conventional comic opera. Hence we find the Yale 
Dramatic Association presenting Ibsen's "The Pretenders" 
and Sheridan's "The Critic," while the New York City 
College has spent commendable effort on Massenger's "A 
New Way to Pay Old Debts." Not to be outdone, for Ben 
Greet is the real, true father of this archaic impulse in America, 
as William Poel is in England, the Greet Players have ap- 
peared in Marlowe's " Dr. Faustus." You may ask if this has 
any appreciable effect upon public taste. The result may 
not be immediate, but the impress on public consciousness, 
however slight, is nevertheless apparent.^ 

1 Professor George P. Baker of Harvard University, and Profes- 
sor Brander Matthews of Columbia University, give distinctive 
courses in drama to their students. The Harvard Dramatic Club 
was the first organization to present Percy Mackaye's "The Scare- 
crow." On the historical side of Professor Baker's work, Mr. Mac- 
kaye, Jules Goodman, author of "Mother," Miss Beulah Marie Dix, 
part-author of a fantastical piece called "The Road to Yester- 
day," Miss Josephine Preston Peabody, Winthrop Ames, 
former director of The New Theatre, John Corbin, and W. P. 
Eaton were students. Five years ago a course in dramaturgic 
technique was started, resulting in the success of Edward Sheldon 
author of "Salvation NeU," "The Nigger," and "The Boss." To 
further this technical training, the Macdowell Club has estab- 
lished at Harvard a Macdowell Fellowship for the encouragement 
of young playwrights. Professor Robert W. Herrick of the Uni- 
versity of Chicago, gives courses in dramatic composition and in 
the analysis of plays. It will be remembered also that William 
Vaughn Moody came from the University of Chicago. 

Whereas Professor Baker's method deals with the theory of 
drama, Professor Matthews adheres to the historical side, well 
indicated in his book, "A Study of the Drama." Not that he 
ignores the physical aspects of the theatre, but he believes that 
the very physical outlines of the playhouse limit the play. Under 
his tutelage, William De Mille, Louis E. Shipman, George Middleton, 
and George Broadhurst, have met with success. In this matter of the 
university's interest in drama, it is well to note that Syracuse Uni- 



SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, FOOTLIGHT 243 

Let us confess that some of these revivals, though in- 
structive, are wearisome. They are not as diverting as Nora 
Bayes singing "Kelly'* in "The Jolly Bachelors," or as 
Blanche Ring singing " Yip-i-yaddy " in "The Midnight 
Sons." If, in some respects, they seem far away from us, 
the reason is very largely technical. As Professor Matthews 
has shown in his most recent book on the drama, ^ a play is 
intimately related to the stage for which it was originally 
written. The changes which are requisite in a Shakespeare 
text for the modern stage are indicative in a measure of the 
differences between the Globe Theatre and the New Theatre. 
It is quite a natural consequence that Mrs. Patrick Campbell 
should fail to convey the Greek spirit, when, within the 
frame of a proscenium arch, she presented a poor English 
translation of a German version of "Electra," instead of 
Gilbert Murray's translation of the original. But let the 
proper setting be employed with the latter, as is possible 
in the Greek amphitheatre at the University of California, 
and it is not so difficult to impress one with the proportion 
and unity and unerring beauty of an ancient drama, even 
though its conventions are no longer incumbent, and its 
manner far removed. 

We have dropped many adjuncts of the theatre because 
we have tried to limit the world of drama to the horizon 
of the footlights. We have devoted ourselves so insistently 
to subtle considerations of the clash of individual will with 
individual will, that we have let slip an expression of art 
which results from such a principle as Le Bon's that "col- 

versity produces original plays; that H. J. Savage of Tufts College, 
Professor Gayley of the University of California, Professor Richard 
Burton of the University of Minnesota, Professor W. L. Phelps 
of Yale University, Professor F. W. Chandler of the University of 
Cincinnati, and Professor S. M. Tucker of the Brooklyn Poly- 
technic, are actively engaged in furthering the work. 
^ " A Study of the Drama." Houghton, 1910. 



244 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

lectivities alone are capable of great disinterestedness and 
great devotion." 

In other words, while the modern drama is attempting 
through types to appeal to an ever increasing aggregate of 
individuals, our theatre is ignoring the communal joys and 
sorrows, hopes and fears, with which all peoples of the 
same nation are endowed. Du Maurier's " An Englishman's 
Home" could not stand close, logical analysis, but granted 
its premises, and it is easy to understand why it stirred 
the patriotism of Great Britain. It is the melodrama of 
life which appeals to the crowd. 

If one reads dramatic history correctly, therefore, it is 
very evident that while forms change and the methods of 
appeal alter, the psychology of the crowd remains funda- 
mentally the same. Not only is this true, but even though 
our audiences are herded together under the same roof, and 
no longer, as a general rule, cling to the hillside beneath a 
clear sky, they go to the Hippodrome as of yore, even though 
the spectacle is less violent than the ancient one; they 
witness Ibsen's "Ghosts," not realizing its nearness to 
"CEdipus"; they applaud Pavlowa and Mordkin, and are 
gripped by the ecclesiasticism of the Middle Ages, found in 
Maeterlinck's "Sister Beatrice." 

The footlights, the picture frame of the proscenium arch, 
the orchestra, all tend toward making the theatre more 
intimate and more subtle. Hence, in the legitimate drama 
there is a group sentiment rather than a communal sweep, 
a more calculating effect or artifice than appeals to a great 
crowd. In fact, the more delicate an actor's art, the more 
limited his immediate influence, as far as the numbers of 
his audience are concerned. No one could regard the exten- 
sive spectacle of Schiller's "The Maid of Orleans," as given 
by Miss Maude Adams before fifteen thousand spectators 
in the Harvard Stadium, as anything more than an interesting 



SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, FOOTLIGHT 245 

pageant, totally unsuited for any other than visual effect. 
When the city of Gloucester, Massachusetts, celebrated in 
1909 its founding by iui elaborate fete, during which Percy 
Mackaye's "Canterbury Pilgrims'^ was mounted in gorgeous 
processional, another fifteen thousand were moved in the 
spirit of popular appreciation of broad color and large en- 
semble. In neither of these attempts did the interest proceed 
deeper than that created by novelty, but both of them to 
a great extent suggested the possibility of a communal art, 
distinctively American in its image and in its historical 
significance. 

Shall the theatre, therefore, be taken at times from the 
footlight into the sunlight and the moonlight? Is that the 
quickest and best way of developing a civic consciousness 
of theatrical art? We look back on the Hudson-Fulton 
celebration (1909), with its water pageant rather devoid of 
intent in the day, but brilliantly aglow at night, with its 
floats far less artistically conceived than the Mardi Gras 
groups in New Orleans, and we wonder whether this carry- 
ing of the art impulse into the open, beneath the sunlight 
or the moonlight, will tend to sharpen civic appreciation, or 
simply to cater to a liking for bulk. For even a processional 
demands the preservation of sequence as well as the main- 
tenance of association; it necessitates the participation of 
citizens rather than the employment of professional actors. 

Once more we have Ben Greet to thank for turning our 
eyes from the footlight to the sunlight and the moonlight. 
It was about seven years ago that, with the inestimable 
assistance of Miss Edith Wynne Matthison, he brought 
Shakespeare into the open, and the warm sunlight of a sum- 
mer afternoon played fitfully on Rosalind's hair, while in the 
evening the moon suffused "A Midsummer Night's Dream" 
with a fairy quality which no incandescence could effect. 

That initial impulse was followed later by other move- 



246 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

ments. It encouraged colleges to amateur endeavor; it 
made possible the Coburn Players; it suggested festivals 
to small communities and to social groups in crowded quarters 
of our cities. In other words, though we harked back to 
the archaic, we realized that it was only to pick up some art 
instinct which might just as well be developed to-day as it 
was in the time when guilds were civically responsible for 
their parts in royal and religious processionals. 

This latest evidence of revival, therefore, is not in a true 
sense a revival, but a resumption of communal expressive- 
ness. Throughout the country there is an incentive to sym- 
bolize historic association — at the opening of a bridge, in 
commemoration of the discovery of a river, in celebration 
of a country's past, or in the tercentenary of a city *s founding. 
There is every reason to believe that such an impulse, sanely 
directed, will become properly instructive, and will exert an 
influence on popular taste. 

When art is brought into the sunlight it must be buoyant 
and not self-conscious; it has to shape itself, not to the one, 
two, three of theatrical mechanism, but to the pulsating 
vagaries of nature. Rosalind's voice must be suited to the 
twitter of winging birds, her laugh must wait upon the echo 
of itself. I have seen " Twelfth Night" in the starlight, when 
the actors* voices were resonant with a peculiar aloofness, 
accentuated by swaying trees and by the expressive silence 
of sleeping things. Nature seems to play with art in the 
open; that is why art must play with nature. For sunlight 
tends toward the real emotion and moonlight toward the 
dreams of an exalted spirit, while both demand that artifice 
approach nearer and nearer to the essence of art, and that 
the shadow of a feeling be as expressive as the shadow of 
a leaf. 

The time has arrived for us to make use of our natural 
resources in our communal expression* This does not mean 



SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, FOOTLIGHT 247 

that we must desert the theatre, that we must discount 
the foothght. It simply means that we must not waste the 
opportunities offered by the sun and moon. It means that 
in our public education we must be made conscious of the 
fact that Nature furnishes us with stage accessories which 
only a communal drama may utilize. The members of the 
Bohemian Club in California, with their red-wood forest, 
have revelled in this consciousness since 1878. 

Only years will prove whether or not this communal 
interest will some day result in a special folk-drama, a special 
folk-music, a special folk-dance, a special folk-pageant. 
Our contention is that the time is just as propitious now 
as it ever was in any period of dramatic history. It is only 
the footlight that has really changed, that typifies theatrical 
convention. We are just waking up to the fact that we have 
let slip a valuable asset in art; we have done that, even though 
we hear everywhere the necessity for our being in harmony 
with Nature. The Greeks utilized sunlight and moonlight 
in their communal expression; but we, in accord with our 
general wastefulness of natural resources, have been artisti- 
cally blind to all but the incandescent bulb. 

When audiences take to the open, their amusements expand 
to accord with the space around them. An entirely different 
set of values has to be reckoned with. The open invites 
only that kind of entertainment which harmonizes with the 
peace and quiet of the hills on one hand, and with the majesty 
and beauty of the scenery on the other. The Greeks drew 
religion and tragedy from the secret sources of Nature; they 
conducted their dances, they sang their Bacchic choruses, 
they celebrated their national sentiment beneath the blue 
sky. 

Let us suppose that a stadium was to be erected in New 
York City. Would an open-air theatre have any appreciable 
effect upon theatrical condition? Would it create any 



248 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

special type of dramatist, other than poets to compose 
choral odes, like those Percy Mackaye created for his father's 
dream, "Columbus"? Such a playhouse could have no 
influence whatever upon the conventional theatre, save 
in so far as pageantry and patriotism might raise the art 
ideals of the crowd and the honesty of the citizen. In the 
open air, we can never hope to have the same class of play 
that is given us in the closed-in theatre. Out of doors 
demands something strictly pictorial. For subtlety is lost 
where largeness is demanded, and delicacy of manner has 
to give way before charm of movement. "The School for 
Scandal" would scarcely set well on the greensward stage. 

Yet masques and carnivals and pageants and civic parades 
are necessary in the life of a people, and a public stadium 
might revive old customs and vivify old manners. The 
open-air theatre invites a new drama and encourages an 
old form. Some day, Americans may find themselves with 
a new pageantry of such magnitude that children can learn 
their history from panorama more real than that now given 
them in the moving-picture, and as resplendent as that 
sustained by the mediaeval guilds or by the Elizabethan 
Courts. On public holidays, the theatre in the open air 
affords the dramatist a new outlet for expression of an 
expansive kind. 

But in order to have this pageantry of high excellence, 
a species of pageant-master, such as Percy Mackaye has 
repeatedly described, will have to be trained. And one of 
the first things he will have to do will be to keep the poet 
within bounds, for the greensward stage has its limitations, 
as well as the legitimate theatre. Yet a well-trained pageant- 
master, even though we are striving for sane celebration of 
Independence Day and effective demonstration on Columbus 
Day, is not as necessary for us to have as well-trained stage 
managers for our roofed playhouses. People flock to the 



SUNLIGHT, MOONLIGHT, FOOTLIGHT 249 

hillside for a game of football or baseball, and they go to the 
parks for music only when they are not scared away from 
the parks by programs too classical for their tastes. 

People participate in pageantry when there is an anni- 
versary of civic import. They are sure to seek the open 
for amusement of a democratic sort. Yet, in order to give 
people drama at minimum cost, which seems to be the aim 
of social workers, it is not necessary to go to the open as the 
only means, especially when the medium of Nature does not 
invite the modern drama distinctive of our day. 

The Civic Theatre^ has been debated as often as a National 
Theatre, and some reformers have even gone so far as to 
seek a Theatre of Ideas, as though there were such a thing. 
What New York has debated is a stadium, run as our parks 
are run, only with the endeavor to keep it in touch with 
the theatrical life of the city. In one way, this might re- 
move the drama of a spectacular kind from the hands of 
the commercial manager, and place it in control of politicians. 
A Tammany play might lead to the revival of an old-time 
custom of the riot, such as used to occur on the London stage 
when the pit reigned supreme! 

The Hippodrome has for several years past presented 
large splashes of color, and has proven a success only when 
it has stayed away from the spoken word. We hear much 
about what an educational institution might do for the 
theatre, but has any institution ever approached the Shu- 
berts and asked them to mount an historical pageant on 
the Hippodrome stage? 

It is well for a city to drive citizens more into the open, 

1 It is well to recall the excellent endeavor on the part of the late 
Charles Sprague Smith, Director of the People's Institute, New 
York City, to cooperate with the theatrical managers. Reduced 
prices were offered to school children and wage earners, and plays 
were recommended by a committee. The idea was well meaning, but 
met with many handicaps. 



250 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

to educate them in the ways of Nature. To do that, there 
are better means than by taking the theatre and making it sub- 
servient to Nature. The pageant is educational as the col- 
lege revivals are educational. But Nature demands a play 
in accord with her own humor. "As You Like It" is typical 
of this — and with her own setting, " A Midsummer 
Night's Dream" is such a piece. A drama that will train 
the citizen's ear to the trill of a lark is certainly a drama 
for all nations, but the hope for a national drama does not 
lie in the open-air theatre, even though the hope of the poet 
might rest upon a stadium ode or a pageant choral. 



CHAPTER XVI 

FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 



The American theatre has created no special form of drama; 
it has not even been original in its rhythm of expression. 
It has modified types, it has infused much picturesque 
detail into local condition, it has expressed rather crudely 
all that is meant by American " uplift," but it has done so 
in form imitative of English and Continental examples. 

But at the present time the American theatre-goer is 
becoming conscious of form, inasmuch as ideas are in the 
air which cannot be satisfied with the old moulds. If Au- 
gustus Thomas had any spark of mysticism about him, he 
would express his belief in telepathy through other channels 
than direct narrative; if the comic opera librettist had been 
brought up in the school of W. S. Gilbert, his "book" would 
be more than a transitory vehicle; if the dramatist who 
turns novels into plays only realized that even a drama- 
tization has a technique and a unity apart from the novel 
itself, there would be fewer failures in that direction. 

The time is ripe for new form, and the only way in which 
we can determine what that shall be is to determine the 
real, true meaning of fundamental principles underlying 
the art. In our day we have seen changes and modifications 
in several forms; we have even witnessed the creation of 
special moulds for special amusements. Melodrama rose 
to a certain pitch of violence, then waned; musical comedy 



252 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

developed to a certain point and remained there; rag-time 
music shaped a lyric as ungainly as the cake-walk dance; 
vaudeville, through the efforts of Tony Pastor and later 
of Proctor and Keith, was evolved from the variety. Yet, 
as regards the latter, we have seen it persist, not only in 
vaudeville, but in comic opera as well. 

It is only in the minor forms of theatrical art that we 
have retrograded. In this very problem of comic opera, 
we have reverted far from such a type of musical entertain- 
ment as Gilbert and Sullivan used to give. Music, song, 
and dance are welded together in a "show" that depends 
more on its topical "hit" than on any meaning the piece as 
a whole might have. Musical comedy is now nothing more 
nor less than the means of exploiting vaudeville reputation 
and variety glitter. 

In fact, modern musical comedy is a hybrid type, of 
which the original was John Gay's " The Beggar's Opera " 
(1728), and it allows one to introduce any feature into the 
entertainment without disturbing the plot. Ask Harry 
B. Smith, author of "Rob Roy," "Robin Hood," "The 
Fortune Teller," and "The Wizard of the Nile"; Henry 
Blossom, who wrote the " books" for "The Yankee Consul," 
"Mile. Modiste," and "The Red Mill"; Frank Pixley, 
who did "The Burgomaster," "King Dodo," and "The 
Prince of Pilsen" — they will tell you that the chief difficulty 
is in "boosting" a "book" after it is written, in securing 
the proper interpolated lyrics. George V. Hobart not only 
turns out scores of these flimsy " books," but he is regarded 
as a general renovator. Musical comedy is in constant 
need of a steady stream of oxygen. 

Fortunes are made in the musical comedy field. The 
cooperation of Edgar Smith with Weber and Fields; of 
John McNally with the Roger Brothers; the individual 
coups of Glen Macdonough's "The Wizard of Oz" and 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 253 

"Babes in Toyland," of Owen Hall's "Florodora," of Hugh 
Morton's "The Belle of New York" — these are sufficient 
evidences of the popularity of the form, apart from its perma- 
nence or its quality. The facts are these. George Ade's 
"The Sultan of Sulu" was anly a moderate success, yet it 
brought him an income. George M. Cohan, librettist, 
composer, and actor, whose songs sell also in the music 
stores, netting him a royalty, has been known to draw over 
three thousand dollars weekly as a librettist alone. That 
is what "Little Johnny Jones," "Forty-five Minutes from 
Broadway," and "Yankee Doodle" have done for him. 

But there is not one of these librettists or of these com- 
posers whose work will withstand more than a decade. 
There is no "book" that will have the vitality of Gilbert's 
"Patience," or "H. M. S. Pinafore," or "The Mikado." 
Not one of these names will outlast more than two gener- 
ations, whereas Meilhac and Halevy are unmistakably 
identified with Bizet and Prosper M^rimee in "Carmen." 
Even such a transplanted and effective piece as Lehar's 
"The Merry Widow" will be imitated, until the imitations 
dim its freshness. For the " book " is poor. 

Experience shows that musical comedy abhors consistency; 
it is a loose type, even as vaudeville is a loose type. These 
forms are full of tricks. Vaudeville, it is true, has become 
legitimitized by the introduction of the high-class artist, 
who gives a form of play in which our American dramatist 
would do well to indulge; I mean, the playlet. And the 
custom has now become so fixed, that the best actor, no 
matter what his winter's work may be, does not disdain the 
comfortable fortune awaiting him in a few weeks' vaude- 
ville. In this way Henry Miller has utilized Clyde Fitch's 
"Frederic Lemaitre." Vaudeville, however, has the per- 
nicious effect of moving-pictures; the audience is not held 
by any unified or consecutive interest; it is, in fact, almost 



254 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

as casual as frequenters of the nickelodeon playhouses. 
Out from vaudeville has come excellent material, not of 
the variety type, but of the art type. Chevalier and Lauder 
and Genee have danced and sung, Mrs. Campbell has acted, 
and historians like to call to mind the days when even 
Edwin Booth did not disdain to blacken his face, or Edwin 
Forrest to dance a jig. 

The chief characteristics of vaudeville will remain, how- 
ever much its good points are abused by the variety inheri- 
tance. It is a form dependent on one^s like for disassociation 
of ideas; it is amusement cultivating nervous strain rather 
than resulting in permanent effect. 

The dramatization of novels cannot be called a new form, 
for Shakespeare looms in the past, an inimitable adapter 
of the conte. Professor Matthews, in his "Pen and Ink," 
has a suggestive chapter on this process, and we note that 
it has become a custom in every country to benefit by the 
inventive faculty of the novelist. For, while I cannot agree 
with Paul M. Potter, adapter of "Trilby," that the pas- 
sionate story is all an audience seeks, I do believe that an 
interesting story, in novel form, might be very well utilized 
by the dramatist, but, mind you, in the dramatist's way. 
In other words, the latter must take liberties with the former, 
in so far as the technique of the latter differs from that of 
the former. 

Mr. Potter is rash when he claims that the drama is not 
dependent upon the intellectual element. But it is easy 
to fall into platitudes, and Mr. Potter's belief that "if the 
feelings of the audience are rightly moved, the play suc- 
ceeds," has nothing to prove. For audiences are moved 
intellectually as well as passionately, and, what is more, 
they have a common spirit which passion only indirectly 
appeals to. When one looks back on "The Eternal City," 
" The Only Way," " The Prisoner of Zenda," " When Knight- 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 255 

hood was in Flower," "Janice Meredith," and countless 
other dramatizations, when one regards the work of Potter, 
of Rose, of Kester, and of an increasing host, one is tempted 
to beheve that dramatization has become a form — a manu- 
factured form — readily manipulated, but built only to last 
a season. We have seen how often the American dramatist 
has either dramatized or adapted. Boucicault lived upon 
the process; it even dulled his originality, though it did 
not paralyze his resources of inventiveness. 

But the ease with which novels have been turned into plays 
has presented a mistaken idea to the novelist regarding the 
stage. The process has been detrimental to the drama as 
well as to the novel. There is no reason, however, why 
lasting plays should not be taken from books, save that 
where there is a slavish dependence upon the story as told, 
there is a consequent lack of intensity and of close technique. 
The reading public scares the dramatizer, for when a book 
is popular, and only popular books are dramatized, the 
dramatist has to keep faith with what the public already 
knows. 

II 

I do not think that it is so necessary for the student of 
American drama to trace minutely the varying forms in 
which drama expresses itself. It is enough that we are 
imitative in farce, in comedy, in social drama, in the problem 
play, in every form imported from abroad. What should 
concern us, however, is a subject that narrows itself down 
to two points: comedy on one hand, and tragedy on the 
other. How fare these with us, not as form, but as spirit; 
not as convention, but as attitude, as national outlook? 

If our American humor is what we claim it to be, then 
our comedy should be rich. And no one may complain of 
this, remembering Mark Twain, George Ade, »nd Feter F, 



256 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Dunne (Mr. Dooley). If our American sanity is a fact, then 
our recognition of the Tragic Spirit, as opposed to the special 
form of tragedy, must be pronounced. Our American drama- 
tists of the closet drama employed the old classic form of 
catastrophe, but that has passed out of date with the coming 
of modern technique. Our early American humorists gave 
types caricatured as we have seen in Sellers, in Solon Shingle, 
and in others, but the human view, which lies at the basis 
of realism, has modified every form of comedy and tragedy, 
and there is only left the deep and abiding spirit of each 
with which to cope. 

Ill 

There is no business more speculative than that of defi- 
ning things; lexicographers are not given the prophetic 
vision, and only one, so far, — Dr. Johnson — has possessed 
the literary sense. No matter what limitation we place 
upon the meaning of a word, time overrides it and creates 
a periodic point of view. 

Since Aristotle framed his classic definition of tragedy, we 
have been called upon to reckon with drama in terms of 
Shakespeare on one hand, and in terms of Ibsen and Maeter- 
linck on the other. Literary history has taught us to be 
wary of declaring old formulae useless. Hence, there has 
become evolved a type of criticism which is more interesting 
because of its angle of vision than because it throws any 
deep and abiding light upon the fundamental starting-point. 

Professor Ashley Thorndike wrote a volume for a series 
called "The Types of English Literature," and he gave it 
the inclusive title of "Tragedy." What the reader finds to 
be the case is, that beginning with certain general premises, 
he discusses the modifications attendant upon all practice, 
and in this case subject to national characteristics. And, 
after reading through the chapters, a truth is impressed 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 257 

upon us: tragedy, as a mere form, is not constant, but is 
a convention of art, subject to conventional social ideas 
and ideals. The Tragic Spirit behind the sequence of things, 
or rather within and coincident with the evolution of human- 
ity, is more eternal and more universal. 

We have not yet had a treatise on the Tragic Spirit that 
has not paid greater attention to the comparative estimate 
of dramatists in the university or academic manner, than 
to the psychological reasons for the existence of the spirit 
itself. Gummere considers the vocero, or tribal songs of 
grief; here is a primitive basis, unhindered by any cumber- 
some body of literature, — a basis upon which to reach 
some physical recognition of tragedy. Perhaps, in a small 
and not wholly satisfactory manner, W. L. Courtney has 
suggested quite as much of the historical perspective in a 
survey of "The Idea of Tragedy" as one would need, in 
order to arrive at some conception of the tragic, not as a 
form but as a principle. 

Now, what has happened in this wild and seemingly in- 
effectual groping for the defining marks of tragedy? Aris- 
totle, in true greatness of the Greek spirit, attempting to 
reduce the problem to its simplest points, yet including all 
its essential connections with life, as the Greek philosophers 
saw life, used general rather than specific terms : " Tragedy 
is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of 
a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each 
kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in 
separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of 
narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper kathar- 
sis, or purgation, of these emotions." 

The danger of literary study is that, too often, we are 
side-tracked by minor interesting problems. Not only are 
there students working in the oppressive style so well ex- 
emplified in Dr. Schelling's "Elizabethan Drama," where 



258 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

streams of fact measure a certain orderliness of mind, with- 
out expressing the breadth of spiritual view — forgetful of 
the life and of the personality in the fractional difference 
of the fact — but a literature has grown up around the 
interpretation of a word. In Butcher's translation of Aris- 
totle, he analyzes the Greek conception of "the function 
of tragedy," and deals with those critics, including Lessing 
and Goethe, who have debated and challenged the transla- 
tion of the word katharsis, or purgation. You see how subtly 
one may be drawn into a profound discussion of the ethics 
of an art, losing sight of the essentials under consideration. 

The subject is a big one and a human one; on one hand, 
you have the conventions of the stage in different ages, 
affecting the form of tragedy; on the other, there are the 
moral and social standards which have moved the individual 
along the scale of increasing importance. We have had 
considered for us Greek tragedy, Roman tragedy, and, in 
modern times, tragedy reacted upon by English, French, 
German, Spanish, and Italian temperament. But the basic 
reasons for the support and development of the Tragic 
Spirit, whatever the environment, have not had a popular, 
a readable exposition. That Americans, for example, do 
not care for tragedy as a form of drama, and blind them- 
selves to the Tragic Spirit, is not due to a predominating 
cry in the illogical vein of the Dr. Fell couplet. Nor may 
we go so deep as ethnology for an explanation. But a 
perspective view of our human response to social and 
economic fact will give us cause to believe that comedy, in 
its richest sense, measures our dramatic taste. 

In Greek tragedy, we consider the abstract will struggling 
against a religious attitude toward Fate. In Shakespeare, 
there is the human will centered upon personality, struggling, 
not against Fate, but against time and circumstance. In 
Ibsen and Maeterlinck, the stage contracts, becomes cen- 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 259 

tred in personality effected by all the currents of time. 
I have elsewhere said that Ibsen unfailingly approached 
optimism, save in the case of "Hedda Gabler" and "The 
Wild Duck," through pessimistic channels; that his in- 
dignation was health-giving, and counteracted the bitter 
realism of his temporal contemplation. Maeterlinck, in 
the tracks of Emerson, has taken all the abstract ideas of 
the Greeks — the concepts of destiny, righteousness, truth — 
moving in an outside sphere, and has compressed them vv ithin 
and around the individual. 

Tragedy of old had a conventional idea that only the 
highly bred, the kings, the princes of the universe, were 
subject to the cataclysmic reversals of Nature. But the 
modern note accentuates a democratic level, and, as we have 
"The Treasure of the Humble," so we, perforce, come to 
consider " the tragical in daily life." 

"I have grown to believe," writes Maeterlinck, "that an 
old man, seated in his arm-chair, waiting patiently, with 
his lamp beside him; giving unconscious ear to all the eternal 
laws that reign about his house; interpreting, without com- 
prehending, the silence of doors and windows, and the quiver- 
ing voice of the light; submitting with bent head to the 
presence of his soul and his destiny, . . . motionless as 
he is, does yet live in reality a deeper, more human, and more 
universal life than the lover who strangles his mistress, the 
captain who conquers in battle, or ' the husband who avenges 
his honor.' " 

Here, then, the modem concept of tragedy, even in its 
formal state, takes on a new aspect; the heightened swing 
of blank verse has had to contend with the commonplace 
vitality of Ibsen prose. But the essence of the form, which 
is the Tragic Spirit, has become almost personal in its 
source. 

In most cases, literary history has shown that dramaturgic 



2G0 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

conventions may generally be defied. The comic idea has 
spread in such directions as to approach the tragic. Someone 
refused lately to write a book on comedy because the subject 
was so inclusive in its reach, under modern theatrical nomen- 
clature. No longer does a tragedy necessarily imply death; 
no longer does death have to occur off the stage. Technique 
and philosophy have thrown into temporary disuse the solilo- 
quy, which largely expressed narratively what Ibsen could 
place into seemingly trite dialogue, what Maeterlinck, in 
such a perfect piece of psychology and clinical observation 
as " The Blind, " treats through the atmospheric quaHty of 
his OUendorfian talk — which is only OUendorfian, by 
the way, when it is badly read. 

Maeterlinck has given us "The Life of the Bee''; neither 
has science refuted his observation nor economics his social 
statement; yet primarily his essay is no text-book on api- 
culture, no discussion of the social unit. My contention 
is that scholarship only half sees, or, more aptly, sees only 
half of the subject it considers. Tragedy needs yet to be 
viewed in the Maeterlinckian fulness. 

This does not mean that one should try to sense instinc- 
tively the Tragic Spirit, though the true artist assuredly be- 
comes freer as he divines his substance and its essential 
form, rather than bases it upon studied or remembered 
models. One writes tragedy only when the Tragic Spirit 
moves him forcefully, only when it emanates from the 
material which is his choice. I quote Maeterlinck: "None 
but yourself shall you meet on the highway of Fate. If 
Judas go forth to-night, it is toward Judas his steps will 
tend." 

Life is so closely knit with the tragic and the comic, that 
defining will not account for all the forms that arise there- 
from. Abstractly stated, we see the Tragic Spirit as one 
unchangeable principle — wherein agony, despair, grief, 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 261 

pain, tend toward the dissolution of the human will. Comedy 
may yield to the darker balance of life, becoming serious, 
grave, even destructive, yet still we would keep from desig- 
nating it as tragedy. 

Therefore, even though "A Doll's House" and "Ghosts" 
be painful in their outcome, though "Hannele" wrench 
the heart with its pathetic child symbol, though Pinero's 
"Iris" be the tragic dragging of a woman into the gutter, 
we theatre-goers are at a want for the phrase by which to 
call them. Ibsen wrote no tragedies during his later life, 
in the accepted sense of the word; yet in no modern play- 
wright is the Tragic Spirit so clearly realizable — which in 
no way detracts from his positive influence. 

Somehow, form has crept into the popular conception of 
the outward expression by which the Tragic Spirit is recog- 
nized. Is it necessary to have the lofty style, the exaggerated 
speech, the melancholy event, the florid diction, the stately 
action? Then truly the cottage and cabin are no scenes 
for tragedy, and the commonplace contains no essence of 
the same. It is the great flow of circumstance, of time, of 
infinitude around the lowly, that must be reconciled with 
the accustomed height and swing of the art form. 

Verily, the student's perspective is needed by the writer 
on tragedy, but it is his imagination and his constructive 
ability that will aid him most. For the Tragic Spirit in man 
is that which gives life to tragedy, and the product may 
only be a faint reflex of the principle. That is where Greek 
art overreached the limits of its time; it was conceived 
clearly in the spirit of highest Greek endeavor; it was based 
upon the concepts of eternal principles. Thinking was not 
imitative; it was pristine. Men spoke like oracles, stating 
law as above fact. 

Tragedy, as a form of art, is at the present, furthest 
removed from the American spirit — from the democratic 



262 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

spirit. I, nevertheless, take the attitude that we must 
not bUnd ourselves to the existence of the Tragic Spirit, even 
though we do not accept tragedy, per se, on our boards. 
Ibsen's voice proclaims its presence underlying the ills of 
our social organism; Maeterlinck's philosophy shows the 
lowliest soul confronted by the problems of eternity. We 
respond in terms of the comic, but the American people 
cannot be blind to the tragic in their lives. 

We meet misfortune in the comedy spirit of youth. 
Take the ravages of the Civil War and the epic response 
afterward among Southerners, who faced the future with 
supernal faith. Take the San Francisco earthquake and 
the reaction that resulted in the rebuilding of a city. No 
one will deny the presence there of the tragic element. 
Perhaps we are prone to lose sight of it in the reaction of 
the American spirit itself, after the tragic event. 

Undoubtedly, the old dramatic terms, though rigidly 
defined by lexicographers, are becoming too narrow to hold 
the varying forms. And no doubt, with the principle of 
Ibsen on one hand, and with that of Maeterlinck on the 
other, we are tending toward a new form. This will be con- 
sidered later. But, at present, we need some treatise on 
tragedy which will estimate its essential spirit as well as 
its varying expression. We speak frankly in our magazines 
and on our stage, of conditions involving sexual relations and 
struggles in environment. Yet, though we see souls dragged 
to the depths of despair in Walter's "The Easiest Way," 
though Jones's "Mrs. Dane's Defense" gives us another 
form of social evil, and Nirdlinger, in " The World and His 
Wife," represents the grave consequences of social gossip, 
still we find staring us in the face on our program the word 
"comedy." And our attitude becomes that of comedy 
toward the vital problems of life, simply because we will not 
countenance on our stage, or in our ordinary pursuits, the 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 263 

form of tragedy, and we have failed to identify in our 
national life the presence of a Tragic Spirit. 



IV 

The Comic Spirit is an illusive factor in literary history; 
it is a deep and subtle principle in life. Raised from its 
Bacchic origin, it has become the very core of sanity, it has 
become the true moral corrective of tragedy. Perhaps 
we are losing sight of this in our demand that a name cover 
many species, until at last the pure type is confounded 
with the hybrid. But, nevertheless, for richness of humanity, 
for breadth of view, for deep understanding, the Comic 
Spirit has a range that embraces a large sweep of life. 

To him who views the world aright, there are always the 
action and reaction, the tension and relief. In tragedy, the 
emotions are so powerfully involved that one is no longer 
able to measure the deviation from the normal view; but 
a real value of the Comic Spirit depends almost wholly upon 
our realization of how far we have deflected from the truth. 
We can only reach the latter state when we have adequately 
become informed of the former. We arrive at the pure 
comic when we have sounded the depths of full existence. 

Now, this view of comedy has been lost to the present- 
day playgoer; most of our writers either avoid the subject 
as being too abstract for journalistic purposes, or else dis- 
cuss new forms herded together under an old name. If 
we look into the philosophy of the matter, we find the psy- 
chologist too intent upon the physiological reasons as to 
why we laugh, and the metaphysician too loath to handle 
the subject in the concrete. Yet, in the scattered cases 
where writing has been done on the Comic Spirit, the human- 
istic aspect has been surely persisting, and its right to be 



264 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

regarded as the sane view seems justified in the Hght of 
accompHshment. 

Within past years, we have had evidences of an existing 
sense of the Comic Spirit among our dramatists and players. 
Mr. Barrie would approach very near to it, if his piquancy 
of outlook was not limited by an agreeable mannerism of 
narrative style. After a fashion, he defined the true comedy 
position when, in "What Every Woman Knows," Maggie 
Wylie declared that no one could love her who could n't 
laugh at her a little. 

When Percy Mackaye wrote "Mater," his intention was 
to imbue American conditions with the essence of comedy, 
illustrating by way of political satire the fundamental note 
in life, that " the test of love — and the best of love — is 
laughter." But at present his spiritual desire is more defined 
than his understanding of the body politic, and Mr. Mac- 
kaye' s Comic Spirit, as expressed, comes in flashes rather 
than in even flow. 

Paul Kester, essaying to make a drama from " Don Quix- 
ote," conceived his knight-errant in terms of situation, 
rather than in terms of the rich defects of the character. 
In this latter respect, Mr. Sothern was the only one who 
approached Cervantes' original conception — to picture 
the weakness of over-romantic chivalry, at the same time 
fully realizing perfectly the innate perfectness of the true 
gentleman. His acting raised Mr. Kester's play, by enforc- 
ing the personal dignity of the character. 

Take what comedy you will, in which there flows any of 
the red blood of life, and, after analysis, you will find that 
the Comic Spirit is not haphazard, is not shallow, is not easy 
to grasp. One must be very near to life in order to feel it, 
and must have asked one's self questions regarding the 
eternal verities, as well as have answered them. 

I have chosen to confine myself entirely to the Comic 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 265 

Spirit as affecting drama, realizing at the outset that we 
must not identify it exclusively with the stage, inasmuch 
as we have Thackeray, Balzac, La Fontaine, Cervantes, 
Rabelais, and Chaucer richly entitled to consideration in 
the larger field. But I am taking the stage, for I am aware 
that, curiously, it is there that the fullest meaning of the 
Comic Spirit is in greatest danger of being submerged. 
There are some audiences so regaled by the fun-making of 
Eddie Foy and James T. Powers — thoroughly clever as far 
as they go — that these same audiences do not see the sweet 
human defects that bring one to the verge of tears. Why 
not, they argue, call " 'Op o' My Thumb" a tragedy and 
be done with it? 

All is not gold that glitters, saith the proverb; which 
means, theatrically, that our stage is too filled with song 
and dance to comprehend the Comic Spirit. Mr. Mansfield 
never once builded upon our reaching the human and in- 
terpretative importance of Moliere's " Misanthrope." He 
planned simply to satisfy his own desire to add to the honor 
of the stage; he was not disappointed, for Moliere was not 
a popular success. Yet it is the duty of our critics to point 
the way to what the Comic Spirit means in the affairs of 
Hfe. Our stage revivals are received with too much willing- 
ness to understand the archaeological shroud, and with no 
cultural perspective to note wherein the unctuousness and 
live quality lay. It is part of the university's province to 
quicken the past. And so, I welcome Dr. Curtis Hidden 
Page's translations of Moliere, not only because they are 
an aid to the English reader, but because in tlie lucidity 
of their style they are adequate for stage presentation, 
with practical and judicious excisions. I believe it is given 
the audience to sense the essence of the comic without 
knowing why or how. This is seen in that instantaneous 
response of the reading public, for example, to Aldrich, to 



266 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Mark Twain, to Holmes; and in the merry laugh over 
"Uncle Remus." I see the Comic Spirit swell the meaty 
substance of Henry James' sentences. It is not that the 
Comic Spirit is wanting, but that our vision of it has been 
warped by other forms which are, in comparison, even as 
paste jewels. It is surprising that we have so much of the 
richness of the comic in the face of newspaper supplements 
and musical comedies. We will have greater plays of the 
Comic Spirit just so soon as we are everywhere alive to its 
whole value. It were well for us, indeed, when we reach 
that stage of culture where we can grasp the humor of our 
faith without in the least relinquishing its sanctity. In 
deep reverence, I have heard portions of the Book of Mark 
read for the purpose of illustrating the rich essence of Christ's 
humor. Comedy and right living are closely related 
ideas. 

At the beginning of a chapter on "Greek and Roman 
Comedy," in Professor Matthews' "The Development of 
the Drama," the author attempts to indicate a terse dis- 
tinction between tragedy, serious drama, and comedy, 
basing the whole upon Brunetiere's law — which after all 
is only Brunetiere's restatement of the law of drama from 
time immemorial, — that all drama deals with the exercise 
of the human will. "If," so writes Professor Matthews, 
"the obstacle against which the will of the hero finally 
breaks itself is absolutely insurmountable, the Greek idea 
of Fate, for example, the Christian decree of Providence, 
or the modern scientific doctrine of heredity, then we have 
tragedy, pure and simple. If the obstacle is not absolutely 
insurmountable, being no more than the social law, some- 
thing of man's own making, and therefore not finally inex- 
orable, then we have the serious drama. If the obstacle 
is only the desire of another human being, then the result 
of the contention of these two characters is likely to give 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 267 

us a comedy. And if the obstacle is merely one of the minor 
conventions of society, then we may have farce." 

These are merely perfunctory demarcations, with only 
one phase of the matter indicated; for in no way do the 
several definitions clearly denote the measurement of the 
comic or tragic clash with the norm. The ethical, moral 
value of laughter lies in the fact that it makes us more sane, 
by bringing more truly into relief, through some slight in- 
congruity of motive or situation, the benefits of the normal 
life. Throughout his discussion of Aristotle, Butcher is 
continually emphasizing the humanistic, philosophical view 
of comedy, which distinguishes the modern from the ancient. 
He lays stress upon Hobbes' claim that "the passion of 
laughter is nothing else but a sudden glory, arising from a 
sudden conception of some eminency in ourselves, by com- 
parison of the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly." 
The high comic poet must taste of life healthily, and see 
that it is good, before he formulates a table of contrasts. 
Knowing fife, as it is given the big man to know it, he allows 
himself to throw relations out of harmony to the point 
where he is in danger of losing all hold upon the sane view. 

The Comic Spirit, therefore, represents one of the highest 
factors, if not the highest, in life. From the modern stand- 
point, it approaches closer to the ethical demand, since it 
represents optimism rather than pessimism. "Comic 
emotion," Dr. Guthrie claims, "originates from the co- 
existence of a perception of incongruity and a persistent 
conviction, not probably more than half conscious and in 
all likelihood quite inexplicit, that in despite of such incon- 
gruity things are right." 

The Greeks did not conceive the Comic Spirit in as pure 
a state as they did the Tragic Spirit; they could not wholly 
separate it from the Bacchic on one hand, or from the satiric 
on the other. "The ludicrous," as defined by Aristotle, 



268 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

"consists in some defect or ugliness which is not painful or 
destructive." The Greeks denied tears to laughter: they 
well-nigh sacrificed sympathy. There was some malice in 
their enjoyment of "discomfiture," as Butcher so well ana- 
lyzes. They did not look to the comic for a criticism of 
life in general; they narrowed to the individual, sacrificing 
the type; they satirized with no regard for sane restraint. 
To them the Comic Spirit dwelt within the lower 
types. 

As usual, we next turn attention to comedy in Shake- 
speare, as illustrating the rich humanistic view of character, 
devoid of buffoonery; one finds the full value in the char- 
acter of Viola and in that of Malvolio. Life is warm, replete 
in sunshine here, with no poisoned shafts, but ripe in sym- 
pathy with human foibles, in kindliness. "Twelfth Night" 
is Shakespeare's midsummer in comedy, declares Professor 
Dowden. 

In a broad sense, Moliere is more nearly representative 
of the Comic Spirit than Shakespeare, although in a few 
instances the latter attained the pinnacle of preeminence. 
The former, however, clearly illustrates that perfection with 
which the comedy of manners, exquisitely representing its 
age on one hand, may likewise embrace a universal con- 
sideration. Scribe is Moliere perverted. 

"I can never care for seeing Things that force me to 
entertain low Thoughts of my Nature," wrote Congreve, 
in a letter concerning "Humor in Comedy." Take this 
statement in consideration with the moral status of his 
theatre, and we begin to realize that it was only through 
his grasp of the Comic Spirit that Congreve was preserved 
out of the general licentiousness of the time. He had the 
faults of his social environment; his genius rose above them, 
however identified with them, however shaped by them. 
Congreve means brilliancy of dialogue, and a sense of comic 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 269 

values, as soon as you are able to realize that he represents 
also a certain phase of English dramatic evolution. Do 
you remember Lamb's essay "On the Artificial Comedy of 
the Last Century"? 

This is no simple subject that we are looking at so cursorily. 
Its proper consideration involves racial and national limita- 
tions and differences. What you smile over, I may not. 
What the English critic defines as Comedy, the German 
critic may deny; the one believes in a permanent effect of 
comedy, the other in simply a transitory effect. To enforce 
this, Dr. Paul Hamelius quotes Kant's ''Kritik of Judgment," 
which defines "laughter as an emotion occasioned by the 
sudden resolution of a roused expectation into nothing." 

Therefore, generally speaking, the German conception of 
comedy, as represented in Schlegel, is wild and lawless; and 
in true German manner, the philosophers, in especial Hegel, 
interpret the effect this "ignorance of self-restraint" has 
upon individuality and its vital relations to life, to cause 
and effect. 

The book has yet to be written which will define the 
Comic Spirit in terms here suggested; the subject is so 
broad as to make the university worker hesitate. We want 
a vital discussion, in which tendencies, racial and social, are 
indicated; it is not enough that individual plays be defined 
in the scholar's manner. For the average reader is not 
familiar with plays of much wide diversity of range. That 
is why George Meredith is perhaps so little known to the 
general public as an analyzer of "comedy" in a special 
essay; it is full of learning, of great familiarity with stage 
history from the closet standpoint. He views his subject 
with the eye of the novelist. Yet his humanistic approach 
toward his discursive point of view is replete with unerring 
appreciation of the true value. "To be an exalted variety," 
he writes, "is to come under the calm, curious eye of the 



270 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Comic Spirit, and be probed for what you are." Again he 
proclaims that "Comedy is the fountain of sound sense," 
all expressions of which are deeply conceived, and which, 
in themselves, refine even to pain. 



In analyzing the essence of American humor, Charles 
Johnston ^ makes an excellent distinction between humor 
and wit, in both of which there must be the element of 
laughter. He writes: 

" If there is a play of mind about difference of race, using 
this as the laughter-rousing contrast which is common to 
both wit and humor, and if this play of thought and feeling 
accentuates and heightens the race difference, and tries to 
show, or assume, as is often the case, that the race of the 
joker is endlessly superior to the other, then we are dealing 
with wit, an amusing thing enough in its way, but a false 
thing, one which leads us away from the true end of man. 
If, on the other hand, we have an accentuation of the common 
life, bridging the chasm of race, and the overplus of power 
is felt to be shared in by the two races, and to unite them, 
then we have genuine humor, something as vital to our true 
humanity as is the Tragedy of Greece, as is the Evangel of 
Galilee, yet something more joyful and buoyant than either; 
uniting us, not through comparison or the sense of common 
danger, but through the sense of common power, a prophecy 
of the golden age, of the ultimate triumph of the soul." 

Consider these differences carefully, and it will be seen 
how reversed are the essential spirits of comedy and farce. 
These are not alone two forms of drama; they are also two 
outlooks upon life. The great fault with the American 
dramatist is that often he hides the richness of his humor 
» Atlantic, 87: 195-202, 1901. 



Edward Harrigax 



Photo, by Schloss 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 271 

beneath the incongruity of witty situation ; he spoils the 
good-natured satire of his intention beneath cartoon motives 
and actions. This was the weakness of Charles Hoyt (1860- 
1900),! author of "A Parlor Match," "A Rag Baby," "Old 
Sport," "A Trip to Chinatown," "A Texas Steer," "A 
Temperance Town," "A Contented Woman" (1895), and 
"A Milk White Flag." His satire was spontaneous, but 
be became self-conscious whenever he attempted to cross 
the border into farce. His political pictures, his characteri- 
zations of conscientious churchmen, his thrusts against the 
sporting craze, the temperance movement, the militia, and 
the woman's rights movement would undoubtedly have 
placed him among the foremost American dramatists had 
he not persisted in upsetting his good work, which lay so 
largely in his ability to contrast, and in his resorting to 
the ridiculous and the incongruous. Hence, in Hoyt's plays 
there was an admixture of insight and shallowness. 

I should say, therefore, that his farce-comedies were 
marked by humor, but were spoiled by the form of farce. 
As for Edward Harrigan (1845-1911), he must be character- 
ized as a delineator of a special type, and with his partner, 
Tony Hart, he built up the reputation which won him 
support. For the two were funmakers, as Weber and Fields 
and the Rogers Brothers were funmakers. In 1871, Harrigan 
and Hart began their careers in "The Mulcaney Twins"; 
then there followed in quick succession " The Day We Went 
West," "The Doyle Brothers," "The Major" (1877), "Old 
Lavender" (1877), "The Mulligan Guards' Ball" (1879), 
"The MulHgan Guards' Chowder" (1879), "The Mulligan 
Guards' Christmas," "The Mulligan Guards' Surprise," 
and others. 

Like the elder Tyrone Power's, Harrigan's pieces depended 

1 See the excellent article by Atherton Brownell in Bostonian, 
3; 386^ Jan., 1898. 



272 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

upon his acting.^ There was no art in the writing of them, 
and they would not read well were they put into print. 
Nor can we say that they were typical of American humor. 
In the street sense, George M. Cohan represents the popular 
conception of American wit, and his ability should not be 
overiooked. But he does not in any way approach the true 
humor of George Ade, whose style, even before he became 
a playwright, was sufficiently conversational in his books 
to point the way to the stage. That road, however, came 
into being by the merest chance in 1902. 

Ade was born in Kentland, Indiana, on February 9, 1866, 
his father being a prominent banker of the town. In his 
youth, the boy tasted of all that country life upon which 
he was to look back with gentle banter and kindly laughter. 
In 1887, he graduated from Purdue University, and there- 
upon began his profession of journalism, which was to lead 
him to authorship. 

By 1890, he was on the Chicago Daily News, associating 
with Harry B. Smith, the librettist of "Robin Hood" and 
"Rob Roy"; Peter F. Dunne, alias "Mr. Dooley"; and 
Charles B. Dillingham, who, once the personal represen- 
tative of Miss Julia Marlowe, is now one of the prominent 
managers of the time. Ade's strides were determined and 
rapid. In 1894, he became a member of the staff of the 

* He was also the author of "Darby and Lanty" (1876) ; " Is- 
caine" (1876); "St. Patrick's Day Parade" (1876); "Ireland 
persMs Italy" (1876); "Lorgaire" (1878); "The Major" (1881); 
"Squatter Sovereignty" (1882); " The Blackbird " (1882); "Mor- 
decai Lyons" (1882); "McSorley's Inflation" (1882); "The 
Muddy'sDay" (1883); "Cordelia's Aspirations" (1883); "Dan's 
Tribulations" (1884); "Investigation" (1884); " The Grip "(1885); 
"The Leather Patch" (1886); "The O'Reagans" (1886); "Mc- 
Nooney's Visit " (1887); "Pete" (1887); "Waddy Googan" (1888); 
"Reilly and the Four Hundred " (1890) ; "The Last of the Hogans " 
(1891); "The Woollen Stocking" (1893); "Notoriety" (1894), 
See Mackaye and Wingate's "Actors of To-day in America," 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 273 

Chicago Record, remaining there seven years, and occupying 
the desk made vacant through the death of Eugene Field. 
His "Artie" book and his "Fables in Slang'* were written 
during these years. In 1900, he sailed for China, Japan, and 
the Philippines. Thus far the reporter was seeing life in 
various hues. 

Then, on his return, a young Chicago composer, Mr. 
Wathall, asked Ade to write the "book" for a musical score 
he was preparing for an amateur club. But the actual work 
had not progressed far when Henry W. Savage appeared 
upon the scene, and Ade entered as a factor in the American 
drama, with "The Sultan of Sulu." Then followed in quick 
succession, "Peggy from Paris," "The County Chairman," 
"The Sho-Gun," "The College Widow," "The Bad Samari- 
tan," and "Just Out of College." "Father and the Boys" 
is his most recent successful piece. 

All of these plays apply poignantly to American con- 
ditions; they make use of a fresh way of forcing the in- 
congruous elements of "news" to act themselves visibly 
before an audience. They are loaded down with a humor 
which is that of the man on the street — perfectly legiti- 
mate humor, even though viewing life from a lower level 
of values. 

Take, for instance, the predominant object of "The 
Sho-Gun," which is a Korean opera. " It is meant," explains 
Mr. Ade himself, " to be an indirect treatise on the worship 
of titles, the formation of trusts, the potency of the American 
*pull,* Yankee commercial invasion, legal manoeuvring, 
advertising enterprise, and other subjects of timely interest." 

The saving grace in our strenuous existence is our ap- 
preciation of our vagaries; that is why Mr. Ade's comic 
operas are as stimulating as good cartoons. Besides sup- 
plying the sinuous lines of color, they have ideas behind 
the detail. In this respect, Mr. Ade is not so very far re- 



274 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

moved from W. S. Gilbert, though lacking in facility and 
in grace. He has defined American drama as one in which 
American characters are dealt with "in such manner as to 
increase our self-respect and to give us a new insight into 
our characteristics as a people." 

Mr. Ade's humor has all the essence of good comedy, but 
its form is unsteady and is too imitative of the conventional 
musical comedy and of farce. I do not believe I am far 
wrong in the contention that our stage has yet to under- 
stand the true meaning of comedy, and especially so when 
it starts out to create comedy in a spirit which is really 
farce. 

However incomplete our discussion, we have at least 
come to comprehend the justice of accusing our stage of mis- 
interpreting the true, permanent function of comedy. We 
need a new nomenclature in order to divest the pure type of 
its confusing deviations. Because we have lost the rich 
meaning of comedy, we find it difficult, save in " An Enemy 
of the People," to understand the Comic Spirit in Ibsen, and 
it is only by this realization that we will grasp the full sig- 
nificance of Ibsen^s optimism. Humor is innate; it is depend- 
ent as much upon a quick fancy as upon a quick response 
to the actual. Though it is not self-conscious, our efforts 
toward culture ignore the strength that comes from a 
general understanding of the Comic Spirit. Our American 
dramatists mostly reflect their humor as an external thing, 
though there is a difference of excellence between Mark 
Twain and George Ade; between George Ade and George 
M. Cohan. Raise the taste for the true Comic Spirit, which 
saturates humanity first, and creates situation secondarily, 
and the American dramatist will become more vital in his 
whole effect. The Comic Spirit exists in our literature, but 
not so in our drama; because, in bulk, our plays do not stand 
the test of literature. 




George Ade 



FORMS OF AMERICAN DRAMA 275 

And yet, the theatre-goer who thinks at all on these ques- 
tions as to the essence of drama will feel that something big 
should eventually come from American humor on the one 
hand, and from our national sanity on the other. Certainly, 
when the accomplishment reaches us, it will be fraught in 
large measure with the Comic Spirit.^ 

* In a consideration of Comedy, the general reader is referred 
to: 

"An Essay on Comedy and the Uses of the Comic Spirit." George 
Meredith. Scribner, 1905. 

"Representative English Comedies." Edited by C. M. Gayley. 
Macmillan, 1903. 

"Moli^re." Translated by Curtis Hidden Page. (2 vols.) Put- 
nam, 1908. Besides the excellence of the English versions, the 
books contain worthy introductory notes and a full bibliography. 
We would have been glad to see somewhere in these otherwise 
satisfactory volumes a fuller analysis of the Comic Spirit in Moli^re. 

"Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art." S. M. Butcher. 
Macmillan, 1907. 



CHAPTER XVII 

A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 

Heretofore, everything that has been written about the 
need for a New or a National Theatre in America has been 
of a speculative character. Even the excellent statistical 
book by William Archer and Granville Barker, — " Scheme 
and Estimates for a National Theatre," — dealing with the 
conditions for endowment as they exist in London, is of 
a purely chimerical, though serviceable and suggestive, 
nature. 

But now, we have actually had a theatre in the flesh, so 
to speak, one worked on principles far different from the 
commercial theatre, one raised during its initial period far 
beyond the need of financial worry, one given a substantial 
building. And what is the result? During a trial of two 
years, the physical proportions of the theatre itself were 
found to be too large, and the deficit in the treasury stood 
four hundred thousand dollars. 

The question is no longer, will a New Theatre succeed — 
but, has the idea any chance whatsoever under present 
theatrical conditions? For it must not be denied that the 
elements of success for any movement pointing to the 
betterment of a national art and of a National or New 
Theatre cannot be kept aloof from theatrical conditions as 
they exist. 

No art given over to a dilettante movement, no art sep- 
arated from the civic life of a people and set up in the minds 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 277 

of a few individuals intent on improving the drama accord- 
ing to their personal tastes or according to a tradition 
foreign to the country in which the theatre is to exist, may 
ever hope for an appeal wide enough to affect national taste. 

Let us look carefully into the subject, and try to reach 
some conclusions as to the influence of the New Theatre as 
it actually existed, from November, 1909, to May, 191L If, 
as the promoters of the scheme claimed, it was not the 
object of the Directors to antagonize the commercial theatre; 
if, as was emphatically declared at the outset, they did not 
intend to appeal to the few, but to reach the masses; if, as 
they further asserted, they were to have nothing to do with 
snobbishness, even though their endowment or their sub- 
sidy or their income — call it by whatever name you please 
— came from wealthy sources, then what was their intent? 
Were they to force the public to take what was caviare, or 
were they to appeal to the public taste, as it is now trained 
by the commercial manager? 

It would seem that, apart from the mere organization of 
the theatre idea, per se, which included much of the detail 
so graphically set down by Archer and Barker, the chief 
concern of any new artistic movement toward the better- 
ment of theatrical condition would be in organizing a public 
sufficiently strong to assure the independent existence of a 
National or a New Theatre, which, having been founded 
upon endowment or subsidy, soon would become self- 
supporting through the suffrage of the people. There is 
no doubt that toward the end of two years, Winthrop 
Ames, as first Director of the New Theatre, not only demon- 
strated that there was an audience for artistic productions, 
but he met difficulties with a dignity commensurate with 
the dignity of the enterprise. He was handicapped, at the 
outset, with three negative conditions. First, the Board of 
Directors was not as generous in its support as it should 



278 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

have been; second, the subscribers were not as cordial as 
they promised to be to the repertory idea; and finally, good 
plays, other than those cornered by the commercial manager, 
were not plentiful. 

The New Theatre^ was erected by a group of wealthy 
men — hence its popular stigma, " The Millionaire Play- 
house '* — who at first invested their money in the scheme 
with no idea of receiving or of claiming any returns on their 
investments, other than the privileges granted them within 
the theatre during its active season. Whatever profits 
accrued — and it was not expected that there would be 
any profits for at least three years — were to be handed over 
to the theatre as new capital. With this financial backing, 
the institution could be considered neither endowed nor 
subsidized. 

Nor could we call the theatre as outlined for New York a 
National Theatre, inasmuch as American theatrical art 
is too closely allied with British art to ignore the British 
dramatist. Therefore, the name "New Theatre," while 
non-committal, was satisfactory, although "Repertory 
Theatre" might have been better. But the name would 
not have mattered, had the idea and spirit behind the 
organization been sustained by the Board of Directors. 

Some years ago, in discussing the mission of the modern 
magazine. Dr. Lyman Abbott asserted that it was doing as 
much as any other factor toward deprovincializing America. 
But he failed to mention among the great institutional 
forces of modern life the increasingly important position 
occupied by the theatre, a position consequent upon an 
increase in theatrical territory, and upon an undermining of 
the long existent puritanical prejudice against the theatre as 
a source of iniquity. 

1 On Central Park West and Sixty-second Street; New York 
City. 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 279 

There are over three thousand recognized houses of amuse- 
ment in this country — a large proportion of them in small 
towns along the railroad lines connecting the chief theatrical 
centres. To cut one off, as Mrs. Fiske and David Belasco 
were cut, from these intermediate playhouses between 
large cities, was business and artistic annihilation. This 
was the method adopted by the Theatrical Syndicate, 
whenever a rival was in the way. 

The ethical responsibility of catering to the amusement 
interests of a public seems incompatible with the customary 
theatrical idea. In the eyes of business, art is experimental, 
financial returns on investment an actuality. The commercial 
tone in drama has resulted in three dangers characteristic 
of Trust ideas. First, until recently, it has very largely 
discouraged home production by bringing to America foreign 
plays already proven and already advertised. Second, it 
has, by pleasing the eye, given a minimum of thought to feed 
upon. Third, from the standpoint of organization, it has, 
by the variety and largeness of its interests, lost much of the 
essence and concentration that should mark an intelligent 
handling of the situation. 

On the score of mere mechanical technique, on the score 
of the booking system, nothing may be said against theatrical 
organization. It is, however, from an abuse of the method 
and a narrowness of the motive, that the idea of a National 
Theatre, of a New Theatre, or of any theatre pledged to the 
high seriousness of dramatic art, first came into being. 

It is a wrong theory that one may divorce business from 
dramatic art; only by material returns is one able to measure 
popular appeal and popular response. There might, at 
first glance, seem to be insuperable barriers in the way of 
the establishment of a National or even of a New Theatre, 
but apart from the human reasons, this conception is due to a 
wrong idea as to the exact province of an endov/ed or • sub- 



280 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

sidized institution, among a number of theatres run strictly 
on a commercial basis. 

As Percy Mackaye has reiterated, both in speech and in 
writing, the obliteration of the commercial manager from 
the theatrical horizon would in no way alter theatrical con- 
ditions as they exist, although the largest obstacle to reform 
might be removed. The unthinking theatre man is one with 
surplus business instinct, and with little innate feeling for 
the product he handles.^ He lacks spiritual refinement; he 
underestimates, if he estimates at all, the spiritual and 
mental demands of his public. Once he has found "a good 
thing," he is not psychologist enough to understand that a 
surfeit of a particular good thing dulls popular response. 

From this surfeit has grown the unfortunate condition of 
long runs, where the actor, whatever the extent of his 
ability, is allowed to work in ruts, where there is no chang- 
ing of demands made upon his diversified talents, if he has any 
talent at all. The work of the American actor has done 
much for the American manager; it has made the best of a 
bad bargain; and in a season one is surprised to find isolated 
bits of acting which, nurtured on a repertoire basis, might 
develop into distinctive art. 

There is a tendency to establish in this country a stock 
system, somewhat different from the old-time stock days, 
yet with the fundamental idea of giving to the actor the 
asset of a repertoire.^ But in the stock company, which 

1 See Robert Grau's "The Business Man in the Amusement 
World," 1910. 

2 The ideal stock plays are "Shore Acres," "Sag Harbor," 
"Way Down East," "Alabama," "Arizona," "St. Elmo," "Secret 
Service." Plays that are released for stock often make fortunes 
for their authors. The final step in the progress of a play is to sell 
one's rights to the Kinetoscopic Theatre. Playwrights, in the 
latter instance, think it best to do this; otherwise the play is stolen 
and mutilated. In one summer stock company, it was found that 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 281 

flourishes particularly in the Spring and Summer seasons, 
there is an incHnation to overwork the actor, even though 
there is a tendency to raise thereby the vaudeville houses 
to a plane of legitimacy. And what is more, those cities 
that have these stock companies benefit by the revival of 
plays that have had their season, and would otherwise be 
shelved. 

When it was announced that New York was to have a 
New Theatre, there was much adverse criticism. Part of 
this came from quarters naturally antagonistic to any as- 
sured competitor in the field. But despite the unsuccessful 
outcome of a two years' experiment, the New Theatre was 
in no way a competitor. While it was not as invigorating as 
the Theatre Antoine and not as institutional, because not as 
old, as the Theatre Fran9aise, it gave us an art faith and 
represented earnest endeavor. 

Suspicion was instantly thrown upon the idea of a New 
Theatre because of its "aristocratic" origins, because of its 
conservative methods of changing bills, and because of its 
affiliation with the Metropolitan Opera House, from which 
source it was to draw material for light opera of the type of 
"Madame Butterfly." This connection was found to be 
unprofitable after the first season, and so, in one respect, the 
New Theatre became what it started out to be, a home 
devoted entirely to the interests of drama. 

The movement, under Director Winthrop Ames, began 
with a prejudice to combat. Others had been ahead of him 
in the field and had failed ; hence, there was a general dis- 
trust of any movement which might be carried on in aloof- 
ness. When there was an endeavor on foot several years ago 
to establish a National Art Theatre Society, however wild 

a play was being given, entitled "The Tavern Keeper's Daughter," 
— a mixture of "The Girl of the Golden West" and "Alabama," 
with a flavor of "Arizona." 



282 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

and unpractical the ideas behind it, there was a definite 
determination to incorporate within itself the intellectual 
energy of outside institutions. Upon its Board of Directors 
there were to have been represented a member each from 
the American Dramatists Club, Columbia University, the 
Federated Arts Society, the Authors Club, even the Bar 
Association and the Chamber of Commerce. 

In its initial period, the New Theatre depended too much 
upon a close policy. And it did not reach out for material; 
hence it failed to secure much encouragement from any 
prominent American dramatist. This might have been 
because of two reasons: first, the American dramatist of note, 
being astute, may have wanted to see how the venture was 
to succeed before becoming identified with it; and second, 
the American dramatist may have wanted to protect his 
income, based on royalties. For his play, as accepted by 
the New Theatre, would probably run no more than thirty 
or forty times during a season, whereas the commercial 
manager would assure him an uninterrupted run of one 
hundred and forty or fifty nights. But the playwright and 
the manager at first lost sight of the fact that the avowed 
intention of the New Theatre — a faith kept for instance in 
the case of "The Nigger," which had a road run almost as 
sensational as that of Thomas A. Dixon's " The Clansman " 
— was to become a responsible advance agent for pieces 
whose excellence deserved pecuniary support. 

There was no legitimate basis for mistrust of the New 
Theatre because its Board of Directors thought best to 
appoint a member of the established Theatrical Trust as an 
officer in the institution. This was done purely because 
that member could bring his force of experience to bear upon 
a new problem. It is one thing to regard drama as a closet 
product or as an art form subject to criticism, but if a theatre 
is to be run at all, it must deal with drama practically, 




Photo, by Otto Sa7-o>iy Co. 



Minnie Maddern Fiske 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 283 

exercising the elements of selection, expenditure, and pub- 
licity for its dissemination through proper channels. That 
is why a member of the commercial theatre was made 
treasurer. 

Much ill-feeling was manifest against the New Theatre 
because the Director selected so many English actors for his 
casts, but this was very likely due to the fact that the best 
American players were tied up with contracts, and also 
because the English actor is better accustomed to the 
repertory idea. Miss Marlowe and Mr. Sothern opened 
the theatre in a sumptuous production of "Antony and 
Cleopatra," but, apart from whether or not the play suited 
their talents, their ideas were not in accord with those of the 
New Theatre. Miss Annie Russell became a member of the 
company for a period, but in no drama was she happily 
placed; so she resigned. The Director made a mistake 
when he mounted "Becky Sharp," for instead of having 
Mrs. Fiske in Langdon Mitchell's version of " Vanity Fair," 
he asked Marie Tempest, and chose Cosmo Gordon-Lennox's 
version. 

It was the general belief some years ago, when the scheme 
for a National Theatre was agitated in this country, that 
there would be no reason why, as soon as the sentiment was 
thoroughly grounded, the plans should not be put into 
execution, as the practical outcome of a sane idealism, one 
which, knowing the limits of an art and realizing the differ- 
ences beween dramaturgy and literature, seeks for a balance 
between the two. But as soon as a definite building was 
erected, the order of reasoning was reversed. The question 
then became: Was the New Theatre established on the sup- 
position that there was a public, other than a subscription 
public, to fill its floor and galleries? The university spirit 
might supply it with an audience of literary tasters, but the 
average public refuses to be bored. Besides which, the average 



284 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

public has limited means for enjoyment, and when they 
went to the galleries of the New Theatre, they found the 
strain upon the ear, and particularly upon the eye, more than 
they could stand. Hence the wage earner stayed away, and 
it was rarely that the auditorium of the New Theatre was 
filled.! 

In fact, at the outset, the institution was confronted with 
the correlated difficulties of having to select a repertory for a 
public which it had to train. But instead of training that 
public, the New Theatre dealt too much with novelty. It 
only realized too late that the first thing it should have 
done was to have accustomed its actors to a permanent 
stock of plays, sufficiently varied to satisfy the boxholders 
while new productions were in preparation. It did not 
realize that if it departed beyond that all-important aim of 
repertory, it would lift itself out of the immediate public 
influence, and serve only as an example of what might be, 
after another institution had educated public taste to re- 
ceive it. The Director was wrong in his disregard of demo- 
cratic interests, though he might with reason have pointed 
to his production of Galsworthy's "Strife" with some show 
of pride. 

It is always well to bear in mind the purposes of a National 
Theatre — a home where dramatic art may be encouraged in 
an ideal building, where a repertory of dignified and per- 
manent worth may be fostered, where the American play 
may be encouraged, where a standard of pronunciation may 
be adopted, a conservatory established for the education of 
the actor, and a dramatic library founded for those volumes 
which are now foolishly being scattered. 

* The New Theatre, however, gave several performances at 
reduced prices, especially for the wage earners, and the immediate 
response was gratifying, though the theatre itself lost money in the 
venture. 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 285 

With a building of ideal proportions in New York — con- 
sidered to be the commercial centre of the New World, 
even though some might doubt its claim to being the art 
centre — one cannot take from New York the fact that it is 
the most cosmopolitan city in the Union, and that, for this 
reason, more people of the different sections would have an 
opportunity of passing through the doors of a New Theatre 
there than elsewhere. 

The institution, at the outset, was handicapped by too 
large a building, the foundations of which were originally 
based on plans accepted by Heinrich Conried, whose ample 
ideas were colored by his opera ambitions. This building 
they were obliged to abandon after a tenure of two years, 
by their move showing that a New Theatre does not imply 
a large building, but one happily proportioned for all neces- 
sities. Had the theatre not been subjected to the hiatus 
of a year — during which time probably another building 
will be erected, more in accord with the requirements of the 
spoken drama — one might have been justified in con- 
cluding that an artistic and financial success would have 
resulted in similar theatres being built in the large cities of 
the country. But inasmuch as the New Theatre has had 
a set back, cities such as Boston, Philadelphia, and Chicago 
are justified in attempting a National Theatre from their 
own individual viewpoints. 

People approached the first year of the New Theatre with 
every hope that it would select a repertory sufficiently catho- 
lic to satisfy the masses, that it would present dramas — 
apart from Shakespearean revivals — sufficiently strong to 
show the commercial manager that it pays to select plays 
of true worth; that, finally, it would, through its successes, 
afford new incentive to the playwright, and infuse into the 
general theatrical situation assurance that good dramatic 
art is only that art which is supported through the suffrage 



286 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

of the people. The New Theatre strove earnestly to fulfill 
these requirements, but opposition, together with its own 
errors, handicapped it. The period of its tenure was too 
short, however, to judge finally; but during its two years it 
had ample opportunity to alter its course on the mistakes of 
its first season. The Board of Directors — standing to lose, even 
though the figures mounted to four hundred thousand dollars 

— should have approached their task in this manner : After a 
year, has the institution, in its repertoire and in its acting, 
made any artistic impress upon the theatrical situation? After 
four years — for it takes that long to balance the machinery 

— does dramatic art pay? If it does not, then the Directors 
would have had a right to question whether the New Theatre 
had been presenting good dramatic art, by which we mean 
high art for the greatest numbers. But the Directors did 
not keep full faith with the idea of a New Theatre. After the 
first year had proven that the building was too large, while 
alterations were being made for the second season, work 
should have been started upon a new playhouse. For it 
was easily discernible that such solid physical proportions 
as marked the New Theatre could never be properly altered. 
Then there would have been no necessity to have a period 
of waiting, such as the New Theatre will have to go through 
when the season of 1911-12 begins. The resumption of 
an idea is difficult to foster. 

Under the management of Director Ames, the New Theatre 
scheme did not fail.^ It is something for a manager to be 
able to boast that under his tenure of two years, he pro- 

» See W. P. Eaton's "At the New Theatre and Others; " "Scheme 
and Estimates for a National Theatre" by William Archer and 
Granville Barker; and Henry Arthur Jones's "Renascence of the 
English Drama." I would refer the reader to three books dealing 
with the English situation : Mario Borso's "The English Stage of 
To-day;" P. P. Howe's "The Repertory Theatre;" and Desmond 
McCarthy's "The Court Theatre: 1904-1907." 



A NEW OR A NATIONAL THEATRE 287 

duced such an excellent spectacle as Maeterlinck's "The 
Blue Bird," such an effective social piece as Galsworthy's 
"Strife," such a distinctive study of characters as Pinero's 
"The Thunderbolt," and such a poignant morality as 
Maeterlinck's "Sister Beatrice." He could have done no 
better than to profit by the sensible and effective tastes 
of his assistant producers, Hamilton Bell and George 
Foster Piatt. No commercial manager could have so 
excelled in the mounting of Miss Peabody's "The Piper," 
or of certain scenes in that peculiarly exotic piece, "The 
Witch," which was Americanized from the Danish, or of 
Shakespearean comedies. Besier's "Don" was enjoyable, 
George Paston's "Nobody's Daughter" far above the 
ordinary. In fact, the New Theatre idea cannot be called 
a failure. 

Mr. Ames created a position of Literary Director — a 
person to be largely responsible for directing proper material 
in New Theatre channels. After the first year, the scope of 
this position was altered. In the first season, two thousand 
manuscripts were read, and from this deluge, no great Ameri- 
can product was forthcoming. Edward Sheldon's "The 
Nigger," whose one excellence was its theatrical effect, 
even though the arrangement of its historical ideas was 
false to the South in the way that Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle 
Tom's Cabin " was false to the South — was a success. 

In reviewing the New Theatre idea and its existence of 
two years, I cannot but regard, with pleasurable feeling, 
the Shakespearean productions. We advance by means 
of our mistakes, and the Directors should have realized this. 
They registered no vital complaint outside the fact of losing. 
My grievance against the two seasons is directed against 
the inability of the New Theatre to encourage the American 
drama, even if it had had to offer special financial induce- 
ments legitimately to take the American dramatist away 



288 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

from the commercial manager. Yet, when it came to select- 
ing revivals from the American drama of the past, I would 
sympathize with the quandary of any Director. For the 
American drama is in the making, and a theatre cannot 
support itself on experiments that fail. Even an art theatre, 
however subsidized, must pay. 



CHAPTER XVIII 

THE ADVANCE OF AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 

America in her turn has been affected by those forces whiqh 
have resulted in a change of form and spirit in the drama of 
continental countries. The slo\v^ infusion of ideas affecting 
social and economic relations abroad, before the Great War, 
has had its^ effect upon^the American stage. In the Nineties, 
our so-called intellectual players were pioneers Jn introducing 
Ibsen to the American public. Then, close upon the success 
of the Norwegian, came, one by one, the performances of the 
then considered advanced dramas of George Bernard Shaw 
— plays " Pleasant and Unpleasant." 

In a theatrical world which had heretofore been used only 
to the conventional romantic and social drama of England, 
these seemingly revolutionary plays were obliged to have 
their due effect on the theatre-going public. It so happened 
that the plays of Ibsen and Shaw were likewise readable plays; 
they gained a foothold in the theatre just when reform or- 
ganizations were working for the betterment of theatre audi- 
ences, and were encouraging the reading of plays. Take into 
consideration, therefore, the impulse to read, and the fact 
that most of the dramas coming from abroad had literary 
flavor, and it is readily seen that the changing spirit of mod- 
ern drama would, in America, have two channels through 
which to impress itself on the public — the theatre and the 
printed book. 

There has been a renaissance of interest in the theatre 



290 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

throughout the United States, as there has been a vast re- 
naissance of interest in the theatre abroad. This popular 
concern has expressed itself in several ways. In America it 
has been fostered, very largely, through the aims and objects 
and activities of the Drama League of America. If that 
organization has done little more than awaken within people 
a sense of the appreciation of drama in the printed form, it 
has accomplished something of vast meaning which had not 
heretofore been accomplished. To the Drama League, un- 
doubtedly, belongs a large credit of having fostered this taste. 

The interest thus furthered has met with self-conscious 
response on the part of a vast public in America. It has, by 
its own spontaneity, forced upon the universities and colleges 
the necessity of considering modern drama and the modern 
playhouse as subjects worthy to be included in the educa- 
tional curriculum. This interest is not based upon any case 
of special pleading. The New Theatre experiment failed 
because of definite flaws in the conditions under which it 
flourished for a few short years. That failure has had no 
effect in discounting the hope for the future betterment of the 
playhouse and of the play as seen in the present renaissance. 

Through the energies of the Drama League, it has been 
driven home to the theatre-going public in the United States 
that the country has had a theatrical history in the past. 
Not only have a large number of persons been made aware 
of this history through ocular demonstration, in exhibits, 
in special performances, and in magazine articles and lec- 
tures, but the different periods of American drama have been 
so thoroughly discussed that no writer to-day, in considering 
the literature of America, would ignore the special field of 
drama as it has been heretofore ignored. Texts of old Ameri- 
can plays at one time unavailable, except in rare first editions, 
have been made accessible through reprints. While it may 
be claimed with some truth that the dialogue of the early 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 291 

American drama is unliterary, it is nevertheless significant 
in its social reflection — significant in so far as in most in- 
stances it kept close to the soil and tried to reflect passing 
national events. What better example of the Colonial spirit 
of special pleading than in Robert Rogers' " Ponteach " ; what 
clearer mirror of changing temper than in the "Military 
Glory of Great Britain," or John Leacock's "The Fall of 
British Tyranny"; what more fascinating comparison than 
the dramatic work of the students of our American colleges 
preceding the Revolution with the dramatic work of the stu- 
dents in our American colleges to-day? The re-awakened 
interest in the past of American Drama has impressed upon 
the literary student the fact that equally as significant of 
the temper of the American Revolution as the Revolutionary 
broadsides and fiery political addresses, are the plays of Mrs. 
Mercy Warren; that equally as valuable as state papers in 
reflecting the spirited times of the opening of the Revolution 
is Hugh Henry Brackenridge's "The Battle of Bunker's- 
HiU." 

In a preceding chapter some general idea has been given of 
the trend in the development of American drama, from its 
earliest period to the advent of Bronson Howard. The gaps 
in the history, as indicated, have been very largely filled since 
1910. Through the zealous researches of a few students, 
valuable private collections of American dramas now preserve 
for the future the whole history of the American theatre. 
Where, heretofore, there was indifference regarding the fate 
of American theatrical documents, there is now an awakened 
interest in the preservation of those documents. The interest 
has emphasized more and more the necessity of continuing to 
preserve the best that has been done by the American drama- 
tist; and of encouraging the younger dramatists to publish 
their plays, especially in view of the fact that one of the char- 
acteristics of the changing drama has been the improvement 



292 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

of the literary character of dramatic dialogue. One feels that 
the limitation of Bronson Howard, as far as a future estimate 
is concerned, rests in the unliterary character of his writing, 
which was the dramatic style of his time. One feels that the 
vitality in Clyde Fitch rests partly in the fact that he pos- 
sessed a literary quality far above the style of many of his 
contemporaries. One hails the publication of the plays by 
Augustus Thomas because of the value a close study of their 
workmanship will have for the student, oftentimes their 
workmanship far exceeding the importance of the content of 
the play. Now that the dramas of Charles Klein have been 
published, one is able more closely to see those pitfalls in his 
work which were covered up by the sheer force of the actable 
quality of such dramas as "The Lion and the Mouse" and 
"The Gamblers." 

Such intensive study of the American drama as has been 
taking place recently has necessarily resulted in some change 
in critical point of view, not alone regarding the value of the 
history of the past in the American theatre, but also in the 
measurement of the contributions made by the American 
dramatists of the past. The necessary increase in library 
facilities to meet the new interest in drama has accentuated 
and aggravated the question of the specialized theatrical 
library, as outlined in the chapter on "The Need for a Dra- 
matic Library." Appropriations are being set aside to sat- 
isfy public interest in the reading of plays. The families of 
those American dramatists, who are considered mile-posts in 
the development, are helping to perpetuate the memory of 
these dramatists by definite gifts for the enrichment of dra- 
matic centres. Where, heretofore, the library of Bronson 
Howard was left to the Dramatists Club, since 1910 the en- 
tire estate of Bronson Howard has been turned over to the 
same institution, which now acts as his literary executor. A 
lectureship on drama has been established at Amherst in 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 293 

memory of Clyde Fitch. And several movements have been 
on foot since the death of Charles Klein on board the Lusi- 
tania, to identify his name with the theatre which he always 
served faithfully and earnestly. 

These activities have not failed of their influence on the 
rising generation of American playwrights. There are still 
writers who feel compelled to the dramatic form, not because 
of any definite instruction, but because their genius impels 
them in that direction. But, since 1910, though there have 
been many significant single plays, there has been no over- 
topping accomplishment which would deserve a special and 
lengthy consideration here. Some very hopeful signs have 
been given that there is in the United States great poten- 
tiality for the future of the American theatre. One cannot 
look without encouragement toward a number of new men 
whose work, while not fully comparable with the work of the 
literary and realistic school of playwrights in England, never- 
theless measures a change for the better in spirit and tech- 
nique. Every year some new name is added to the already 
ample list of American dramatists — a name brought into 
prominence by phenomenal success. This success may not 
be sufficiently assuring to guarantee a permanent position, 
but at least it demonstrates that the theatrical activity is a 
healthy and insistent one. 

We need not be disappointed over American dramatic 
energy which is contributed to the theatre. So rapidly has 
the increase taken place that such men as Bronson Howard, 
Clyde Fitch, and James A. Heme may now be regarded as 
pioneers rather than as actual forces in the theatre. Others 
have followed in their wake — men with more originality, 
with more technical freedom, and with more artistry in the 
creation of types. Some of them have been knocking at the 
door for recognition these many years, and have only just 
met with success. 



294 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

There are those who still believe that William Vaughn 
Moody's "The Great Divide" struck the highest note yet 
reached in American drama. While a vast amount of dra- 
matic effectiveness may be recognized in that play, Moody 
should be estimated primarily as a distinctive poet, interested 
in the dramatic form, but not master of it. Much more sure 
in form is Eugene Walter, though commercial demands have 
pushed him into hasty work. But even in his plays, Mr. 
Walter shows a certain vigor. "The Wolf" was not a great 
play, but it was an effective melodrama. "Paid in Full," 
which has served as model for so many imitators, had the 
virtue of one character who was virtueless: the clerk who 
pushes his wife into compromising herself. "Fine Feathers," 
three times rewritten before it succeeded on the stage, pos- 
sessed tenseness of purpose. But the top-notch of Mr. 
Walter's activity so far remains " The Easiest Way " — in 
its technique, in its poignancy of characterization, and in its 
liveness of theme. Though lacking in brilliancy, it is the best 
work an American dramatist has done in recent times. One 
may say this truthfully, fully aware of the literary value of 
many of Clyde Fitch's plays, and recognizing the easy grace 
with which Augustus Thomas writes dialogue. 

On the whole, it would seem that what is the matter with 
most of our American drama of recent years is that it lacks 
conviction of the larger kind — conviction as to our national 
aims, as to our individual destiny, as to our moral standards. 
We have had occasion to note it before. This defect may be 
attributable to the fact that the American dramatist has 
always possessed the facile ability to paint things as they are, 
in their surface relations — an ability which all the younger 
writers possess to a surprising degree. 

When an author approaches a certain phase of human 
activity with authority, combining a thorough knowledge of 
the subject with an artistic handling of the human qualities 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 295 

of his characters, the result is something very close to life. 
In England, John Galsworthy is endowed with a social con- 
science, one which is turning him into a citizen playwright of 
the most forceful sort. In "Justice" he sounds the note of 
the social reformer humanized; his vision is philosophic and 
brutally poignant. Earlier in the chronological order of 
presentment, "The Silver Box" discusses two standards of 
justice, showing their causes and effects in striking situations. 
There has been a consistent development in Galsworthy's 
work along definite lines of interest, conviction, and vision. 
In his artistic treatment, he has developed a sense of "the 
irony of things" that serves to make the situations with 
which he deals richer and deeper in their lasting quality. 

Since 1910, the American stage has witnessed flashes of the 
same thing, but the flashes have not been sustained. We 
were given a play by Charles Kenyon called "Kindling," 
sincere in its treatment of the tenement problem, combining 
effectiveness of scene with feeling for character: there was 
also in it the earnestness of a man who felt deeply the subject 
he was exploiting. Yet "Kindling" failed after a struggle 
for existence. It was battered here and there until, through 
the assistance of the Drama League, it met with success in 
Chicago. But it was not a box-office success which, accord- 
ing to the commercial theatre, a play must be in order that it 
remain in the running; it was neither so startling in its situa- 
tions nor so alluring in its sex appeal as to attract Broadway 
audiences. Then Kenyon, who is a San Francisco newspaper 
man, possessed of a rare sense of what Galsworthy calls 
"the irony of life," wrote another play, "Husband and 
Wife," and it was marked by seriousness of purpose and orig- 
inality of treatment, even though it was the old-time, hack- 
neyed subject treated by Eugene Walter in "Fine Feathers," 
of married people living beyond their means, and pushed into 
speculation through the swift pace of American life. Some 



296 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

time in the immediate future, Mr. Kenyon will be recognized 
for his intent purpose and his strong, virile, original handling 
of American character. 

A man of greater activity and of the same order of ear- 
nestness^is Joseph Medill Patterson, who has put his social 
conscience into civic practice, as well as giving it artistic ex- 
pression. In his " Little Brother of the Rich," "The Fourth 
Estate," and "Rebellion," he showed his interest in matters 
pertaining to the public good and his concern about certain 
problems in city life. He is one of the few men writing drama 
who has consistently developed along the line of his own con- 
viction; who reveals a definite habit of thought. His news- 
paper experience has left him with a set social purpose. He 
lacks brilliancy of touch, as well as lightness of sentiment. 
His plays are drab and melodramatic; he is not always sure 
in his technique. But he is not shifting in his standards, as 
so many of our younger playwrights are. 

I do not want a dramatist to steep all his plays in the same 
color; if he has the ability to surprise us with an entire 
change in technique and style each time he writes a play, 
such facility will proclaim him a genius, without mannerism 
and without trickery. For mere playwriting, as opposed to 
the genuine genius of the dramatist, is a matter of manner 
and trickery. But the genuine play is that which contains, 
not only manner and legitimate trickery, but personal con- 
viction besides. The American dramatist has not always 
approached his subject with authority or with personal 
conviction. 

The uncertain stability of conviction is seen in the work of 
Edward Sheldon, who, since his very beginning, has exhibited 
an expertness in technique, and a variety in subject matter, 
which are unusual in the younger men of the theatre. After 
he left Harvard, as a student of Professor Baker in "Work- 
shop 47," when "Salvation Nell" was produced, he was 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 297 

rightly hailed as a new and hopeful sign. He had come from 
the university atmosphere with an observation not centred 
on traditional things, but fresh for the newer life-stuff around 
him. It was rugged work, dependent largely upon what 
Mrs. Fiske put into it as a stage-manager; but there was 
sincerity in it to the end. When he undertook, in "The 
Nigger," to treat the Southern negro problem, he was found 
to have a quick sense of the dramatic elements in the thesis, 
without having a very sound or deep idea of the social prob- 
lem he sought to discuss. 

Then plays began to come thick and fast from the pen of 
Mr. Sheldon — one, "The Boss," based on the reading of an 
editorial in a magazine. His quickness to sense theatricalism 
has always been uppermost since he left Harvard, but in no 
way has he shown a vivid insight into condition. Contrast 
"Salvation Nell" with Shaw's "Major Barbara." We did 
not expect Sheldon to come from college with full-fledged 
Fabian wisdom at his finger-tips, but we have seen since that 
time no disposition on his part to enrich his understanding of 
men and condition. He is still hasty, crude; and he leans 
heavily on his ability to marshal detail. That is why, so 
often, we find Sheldon's energy expended in revising the 
work of other people; we find him filling the position which 
recent years have created in the theatre — the position of 
"Play-Doctor," where half-baked dramas are turned over 
to those who, like Sheldon and George Broadhurst, are 
skilled in the mere mechanics of stage structure, and who try 
to strengthen and fortify. Even the time expended by Shel- 
don in a clever though valueless dramatization of Suder- 
mann's "Song of Songs" would have been more wisely spent 
on an original play, though the results showed his abiUty as 
a dramatizer. 

In other words, Edward Sheldon has not yet placed him- 
self definitely in the development of American drama. Read 



298 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

*'The Nigger" and then realize how lacking in profundity it 
is, with little reflection of the true characteristics of the 
Negro. Note the difference in methods between his "Ro- 
mance" and Clyde Fitch's "Captain Jinks of the Horse 
Marines"; you will discover Sheldon's inability to absorb 
atmosphere and Fitch's excellent power of identifying him- 
self with the past. Sheldon has been in the theatrical game 
long enough to have ripened in his vision. He has done work 
which, on better judgment, he should have refused to do. 
He drives his fancy and fails to catch the spirit of Hans 
Andersen in his version of "The Mermaid," called "The 
Garden of Paradise." He becomes specious in the "Song of 
Songs," where the technique should have been that of Pi- 
nero's " Iris." His exuberant dramatic sense is what we want 
protected. He seems to be feeling around everywhere, with- 
out fully deciding for himself what this life is all about. It 
is this very separating of his interest which hurts his value 
and his effectiveness. Yet his versatiHty makes us persist 
in the hope of his finding, some day, his equihbrium. He 
needs the reducing glass to restrict his observation and to 
make it deeper and more intense. Such a play as "The 
High Road" is justification of this statement; therein he is 
true to his moral purpose, but he does not concentrate. 

A number of years ago, when Thomas and Fitch loomed 
on the dramatic horizon as the most permanent dramatic 
figures, Charles Klein and George Broadhurst were knocking 
at the door for entrance. Klein was laboring over the libretto 
of "El Capitan," and Broadhurst was writing farces. They 
had not made for themselves the fortunes which were later in 
store for them. In a previous chapter Klein has been dis- 
cussed. Broadhurst's " Bought and Paid For," written since 
1910, was hailed as the play of the hour. In his work are 
centred all the external problems which interest our younger 
dramatists. "Bought and Paid For" exempKfied the very 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 299 

faults which mark the American dramatist. It created one 
type which is a real contribution, and let the rest of the 
drama follow the line of least resistance — the line of theat- 
rical appeal. The mystery is that, with the ability to create 
one type truly excellent, the dramatist should fling upon the 
boards other characters that are shallow and undeveloped. 
In "Bought and Paid For," Broadhurst displayed an amount 
of glitter which may always be gained by having a poor girl 
marry a fabulously wealthy man; he worked his material up 
to one scene of revolt where the drunken husband becomes a 
beast to his wife. 

All of this is external, the tinkhng cymbal and the sounding 
brass. It is easy to thrash out such a plot, if you have the 
technical ability. But it is not easy to create such a charac- 
ter as Jimmie, the clerk-brother-in-law, who is consumingly 
satisfied with himself. Were the other characters as human, 
the play would be worthy the dramatic success it had. 
Broadhurst, thus far, has only shown a superficial ability. 
W^en he wrote "The Man of the Hour" he was following 
in the channel created by Klein's " The Lion and the Mouse." 

You cannot cover a play over with a false gloss and pass it 
off as understanding. Had this gloss not been one of the 
essential reasons for the success of Louis K. Anspacher's 
"The Unchastened Woman," had he not been moved pri- 
marily by the external theatricalism of the situation, had he 
not placed his faith in the false sparkle of dramatic effective- 
ness, he would have written a very big play. This much, 
however, can be said for "The Unchastened Woman": that 
in it the dramatist accomplished a distinct feat; he created 
a character-study in his heroine worthy of Mrs. Humphry 
Ward or Mrs. Edith Wharton, and he developed that char- 
acter with unerring understanding of her essential weakness, 
keeping her development consistent to the end. But the de- 
fect of the play, seen as much in the printed script as in the 



300 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

acting, was to be found in the incomplete social fervor in- 
jected into it, the bad taste of socialized preachment. These 
side-issues distracted the attention of the audience away 
from the real concern of the play. The fact is Mr. Anspacher 
wrote a drama which, through the dominant character of its 
heroine, excelled Broadhurst's "Bought and Paid For," but 
which was spoiled for further claim to distinction by the very 
defects which earned its Broadway acceptance. His theme 
was not built on any constructive view of life. 

These stereotyped phases are what have, in many ways, 
handicapped Bayard Veiller, for so long a while regarded 
as an excellent example of the "disappointed playwright." 
Then came the phenomenal success of his play, " Within the 
Law," a splendid example of the newspaper type, theatrically 
effective and holding, because of the novelty of its inventive- 
ness and the timeliness of its police and gang problem. 
While its success was disproportionate to its literary merit, 
yet its nearness to popular interest — the interest in the 
trials of a New York policeman — was its one claim to vital- 
ity. In "The Fight," another of Veiller's plays, he was far 
more sincere, far more logical. The American dramatist 
oftentimes does not solve for himself the problem he has in 
hand; he more than likely leads his play into moralless 
channels. "Within the Law" upholds effectively the eva- 
sion of the law. The audience is blinded into lauding such 
evasion, because of the stress of sympathy for the characters. 

One mentions Veiller's name in connection with the class 
of American playwright of which he is an excellent example. 
His inventiveness is external; he is clever in marshaling 
external details. His latest success, "The 13th Chair," 
travels on its sheer interest as a bit of fiction; the characters 
are mere pegs in the unraveling of a plot which is cleverly 
conceived and skilfully put together. 

The unfortunate circumstance is that the younger Ameri- 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 301 

can playwright is developing in an atmosphere of external 
influences rather than of intellectual stimulation. He has 
interpreted the stage as a place where novelty is to be sold 
at so much a seat, for which a compensating royalty return 
is to be expected. He has witnessed the tremendous inroads 
of the moving-picture on the legitimate theatre, and has 
tried, in some respects, to keep pace with the rapid movement 
of the celluloid drama. In fact, the technique of the moving- 
picture has come in to divert the attention of the younger 
dramatist away from the good effects which his reading of 
literary plays was having on his mental approach toward the 
theatre. Have we not heard such a writer of popular fiction 
as Rex Beach assert that the techniques of novel writing 
and of the short story were being materially affected by the 
nervous structure of the mechanical theatre? Have we not 
already seen this technique making inroads on the theatre 
itself in such a popular play as Elmer Reizenstein's "On 
Trial" — where the unities of time and place are relegated 
to the limbo of useless things? In the adoption of this new 
technique, Reizenstein legitimately made use of something 
novel and external. But the mere mechanicalness of the 
structure took away from the value as a living piece of work. 
Reizenstein is one of the young men whose interest in the 
theatre has come from no self-conscious approach toward it. 
Other work of his, not yet popularly presented before the 
public, has shown that he is influenced by the continental 
technique and has hearkened to some of the forceful ideas 
underlying the changing modern drama. He cannot be esti- 
mated on one success. 

It is encouraging to see how unexpectedly the dramatic 
instinct springs up in different directions. But we still have 
to hold to our statement made in a previous chapter that, 
very largely, the American dramatist's training has been 
received from newspaper work. One of our most hopeful 



302 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

writers of the younger generation is A. E. Thomas, author of 
"Her Husband's Wife" and "The Rainbow." His career is 
truly representative of the career of many of the younger 
men of the theatre. He was a student at Brown University. 
From college he went to New York, where for two years he 
served as a dramatic critic on The Sun, following Walter P. 
Eaton. There he had ample opportunity to observe hov\^ 
plays should not be written. But very wisely he slipped out 
of the job just as soon as he began to practise what he 
preached as a critic. Many of his plays have freshness of 
character and are full of wholesome sentiment. Sometimes 
that sentiment becomes over-proportioned, as in " Come Out 
of the Kitchen," based on a novel of sentimental character. 

In the instance of A. E. Thomas we may ask whether, at 
the present time, it would even be wise to attempt to fix his 
position in the development. He is a man of the theatre, and 
a man of the theatre is fortunate if, after long service, he can 
escape into the rare atmosphere of the dramatist. One can 
only say that he is the author of a play, "Her Husband's 
Wife," which, to quote Mr. Eaton's words regarding it, 
"was written solely to be acted, with no thought of the 
printed page in mind." The conclusion that it has survived 
because it is a good play is sufficient reason for anyone. We 
can only take the play on its individual merit, and let the 
full credit go until the time for final estimate. 

The constant frequenter of the theatre sees many hopeful 
signs for the American playwright of the future — signs 
which in some instances are fully realized, and in other in- 
stances fade entirely away after one success. "Years of Dis- 
cretion," by Frederic Hatton, a Chicago dramatic critic, in 
collaboration with his wife, contained many elements worthy 
of the American theatre. So did Ahce Bradley's " The Gov- 
ernor's Lady," Richard Walton Tully's "The Bird of Para- 
dise," and Clare Kummer's "A Successful Calamity." 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 303 

A drama that can boast of Winchell Smith's " The Fortune 
Hunter/' or "The Boomerang," or "Turn to the Right"; a 
drama that can produce such types of farce as Augustin 
McHugh's "Officer 666," or Roi Megrue's "It Pays to Ad- 
vertise"; a drama that can show elements of dexterity and 
worthiness Hke those in Edward Childs Carpenter's "The 
Cinderella Man" and Paul Dickey's "The Misleading 
Lady"; a drama of this calibre is not lacking in potential 
vigor or strength. One can turn to James Forbes's "The 
Chorus Lady" and say that, as a reflection of a particular 
atmosphere, it is an excellently done piece of theatrical 
work; but there is in it not even that vivid inner emotional- 
ism which the French use to such advantage in "Zaza." 
One can turn to William De Milie's " The Woman," and in 
comparison with his earlier workmanship, shown in " Strong- 
heart" and "The Warrens of Virginia," conclude that his 
cleverness might be pledged to sounder work. De Mille is 
not as definitely connected with the dramatic movement of 
the present, as his father, Henry De Mille, was with the 
dramatic movement of the past, when, in collaboration with 
David Belasco, he wrote such domestic pieces as "The Wife" 
and "The Charity Ball." 

One might say that a writer on the theatre is justified in 
devoting a close study to the plays by Hartley Manners — 
such plays, for example, as "The House Next Door," which 
showed excellent scope in characterization, and as "Peg o' 
My Heart," whose sentiment was inspiration for many plays 
of a similar kind. But though Manners is one whose ap- 
proach toward the theatre is always sincere and earnest, he 
is not yet convinced of his real purpose as a dramatist. He 
is another example of a valuable potentiality in the theatre, 
waiting for some tremendous power of spiritual and intel- 
lectual conviction to move him to the adoption of some point 
of view which will stamp him in all his plays. 



304 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

The dramatists themselves cannot be blamed for this 
casual manner of using dramatic technique. One must blame 
the drama spirit of the time in America preceding the Great 
War. 

When we come to consider the new forces in the playhouse 
which are resulting in the establishment of Little Theatres, we 
shall see wherein the dramatist will be able to find his intel- 
lectual and spiritual level. Certain it is that, since 1910, more 
writers with a literary sense than ever before have turned to 
the theatre, not as a means of profit but as a medium in which 
to work seriously. Winthrop Ames's $10,000 prize, offered 
some years ago, was awarded to Alice Brown for her "Chil- 
dren of Earth," a drama which, even though it may not have 
been perfect in workmanship or consistent in development, at 
least showed the effect a definite atmosphere may have on 
playwriting. The New England spirit in "Children of 
Earth" was much more deeply ingrained than the New Eng- 
land spirit which William Vaughn Moody tried to suggest 
in "The Great Divide." 

We find the literary man approaching the theatre with 
strong desire to introduce therein certain new elements. 
Though he may not have been as successful as Maurice 
Maeterlinck in the creation of psychological effects, never- 
theless, Theodore Dreiser's application of spiritual and 
psychological states of mind to local condition in his volume 
of "Plays of the Natural and Supernatural," is an encourag- 
ing sign of originality. 

I emphasize the activity in this cursory manner because it 
is the only way of reaching a fair estimate of the vitality of 
the dramatic soil in America. These men and women writing 
occasional comedies and occasional farces need not neces- 
sarily be considered on their individual merit. To obtain 
any hope out of the activity which crops up in the most un- 
expected quarters, we must take the result and note the; 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 305 

tendency. The product is not stagnant, as some critics seem 
to think; it is simply scattered and lacking in direction. 
George Ade contributed something to the movement in 
American drama, something as distinctly national as Mark 
Twain, though not as dominantly so. He appears within 
recent times to have dropped out of the running, leaving the 
field to George Cohan, whose plays are farcical, ironical, 
redolent with types, and kinetoscopical. 

Having thus given some idea of the advance of the Ameri- 
can drama since 1910 — that is, the American drama as re- 
flected on the stage — it has been saved for the last to point 
out the high-water mark of execution. So far the hopeful 
signs have been indicated. Were one asked to mention the 
significant dramas written within recent years, one would 
naturally put in the first group William Vaughn Moody's 
"The Great Divide" and Eugene Walter's "The Easiest 
Way." In the second group one might be justified in placing 
Augustus Thomas's "The Witching Hour" and "As a Man 
Thinks," with Clyde Fitch's "The City." 

In the third group, one places quite alone, as an example 
of imaginative value, Benrimo and Hazleton's " The Yellow 
Jacket." This play deserves special comment, for it is one 
of the rarest American examples of creative and poetic drama. 
Since its first production on November 4, 1912, it has had 
an interesting and precarious existence. For "The Yellow 
Jacket," when it was first given to the jaded tastes of Broad- 
way, was caviare to the many who were puzzled by the 
conventions of the Chinese stage as utilized by these two 
authors. The public could not reconcile the curious manner 
with the beautiful poetry of the fines. " The Yellow Jacket" 
was talked into success, and to-day it stands as a very dis- 
tinctive example of imaginative work. Chinese theatrical 
eccentricity is cleverly manipulated with exquisite precision, 
and in no way do the external color and picturesqueness de- 



306 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

tract from the complete understanding of the human and 
poetic qualities of the story. In "The Yellow Jacket" one 
begins to understand how quickening an imaginative drama 
is to the imagination of an audience; one appreciates the 
vitality of the Elizabethan audience which could imagine all 
the scenic possibilities of Shakespearian plays better without 
having to clutter the stage with externals. As the authors 
declare in their foreword to the printed play, "It might be 
said in a Chinese way that scenery is as big as your imagina- 
tion." So we might add that the beauties of " The Yellow 
Jacket" are apparent only to those whose imagination is as 
big as the beautiful scene conceived by the authors. 

Since writing " The Yellow Jacket/' Hazleton has not been 
heard from. He has contented himself with the reputation 
gained from that play in countries abroad as well as through- 
out the United States. Benrimo, an actor with experience 
acquired under Belasco, has only recently produced another 
play, Japanese in tone and in legend, entitled "The Willow 
Tree." It is devoid of the poetry of "The Yellow Jacket," 
devoid of the deeper human reflections, and self-conscious 
in its theatrical novelty. It is as though Benrimo, having 
had one success, had said to himself, "Go to, — I will write 
another play as novel as 'The Yellow Jacket,' and one as 
appealing in its color as * Madame Butterfly,' by Belasco and 
Long." But this he has not succeeded in doing. 

We were encouraged further in the direction of imagina- 
tive drama by the presentation of Eleanor Gates's "The 
Poor Little Rich Girl." It succeeded because of the novelty 
of its theme and the skilfulness of its commingling of con- 
scious with unconscious elements. Through the sheer force 
of its imaginative appeal it overtowered the defects of its 
construction — defects which the dramatist did not attempt 
to obliterate in the next play she wrote. 
' "The Yellow Jacket" and "The Poor Little Rich Girl" 



AMERICAN DRAMA SINCE 1910 307 

indicate that there is in America an ability to create some- 
thing which is not purely realistic; to make use of the poetical 
in such way as to counteract the undramatic. Even Percy 
Mackaye has, in later years, shown that Pegasus can be 
put into the harness of theatrical restrictions. His play, 
"A Thousand Years Ago," came much nearer the require- 
ments of the stage than many of his more ambitious plays 
of earlier years. Mackaye, since 1910, has learned better 
the laws of dramaturgy. His self-conscious study of form 
has brought his methods of thinking within bounds. We 
find him zealously and earnestly studying the true propor- 
tions of the pageant and of the masque. We find him manip- 
ulating skilfully his old play, "The Canterbury Pilgrims," 
and turning it into a libretto which is a rehef from the con- 
ventional, stilted, mechanical librettos of the past. 

^very great success of our current stage means that the 
^dramatist who has thus passed across the foothghts into 
public favor has in addition made for himself a comfortable 
income. But the art of play-writing takes time to mature. 
A play is not a mere matter of haste and slap-dash. The 
wonder is, therefore, that these men and women of one suc- 
cess, who can afford thereafter to move slowly, are not more 
exact, more careful in what they do. 

Giving the people what they want does not necessarily 
mean that one is free to give along the lines of least resist- 
ance. By all means let the dramatist think of the theatre 
first, and the theatre of his own time. Let him follow the 
newspaper. Let him go to the four corners of the globe for 
material, if he wants to. The only condition shall be that 
when he puts pen to paper, he shall have made clear to him- 
self the thing he has to say. 

What our theatre needs to-day is not drama slavishly de- 
pendent on models reaching us from abroad; we need re- 
cruits in the theatre who can do plain thinking and high 



308 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

thinking; who are logical and convincing. Out of such quali- 
ties will a great American drama come, and there are evi- 
dences that it is coming. I do not want the literary man 
without a knowledge of the peculiar demands of the theatre 
to monopoHze the playhouse. Henry James, WiUiam Dean 
Howells, Thomas Bailey Aldrich never wrote successful 
plays, because they would never recognize the technique of 
the drama as different from and more difficult than the tech- 
nique of the novel. 

There has never been a time when the dramatic impulse 
in the country was so wide-spread. Out of it there should 
come something more permanent than there has come al- 
ready. Among the younger generation of writers there are 
ample signs of potential strength. But they are dramatists 
of one success. Truly should it be said that by their works 
rather than by their one work shall they be fully judged.^ 

* A short list of recent American dramas is to be found on pages 
329, 330. 



CHAPTER XIX 

THE CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 

The craze for Little Theatres, which has developed to such 
extensive proportions throughout this country in the last 
few years, is a queer mixture of the unthinking amateur 
spirit, with a true, sincere spirit of revolt against art com- 
mercialized. WTiether or not the experiments being made by 
so many ambitious and independent groups of young artistic 
people will ever result in any appreciable effect on the real 
theatrical situation will depend, very largely, upon how far 
the spirit of revolt in the future is nurtured independently of 
the amateur. 

There are seventy or eighty independent and distinctive 
little art centres in the United States, all working definitely 
for the improvement of the drama, for the betterment of the 
dramatists, and in the interest of a public demanding higher 
forms of entertainment. These centres are sign-posts of the 
restlessness of the theatre-going public. They are sign-posts 
of the self-conscious attack being made on old-time methods 
of art exploitation. Their significance is being discussed in 
open convention and in magazine articles. Their policies 
are being criticized and lauded in the newspapers of the day. 
Their common characteristics have been unified and discussed 
in books on the theatre, — with the result that the move- 
ment is now widely recognized as a force likely to change the 
dramatic product of the future. 

The wide geographical distribution of Little Theatres — 



310 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

from coast to coast in fact — indicates that there is a mass of 
art feehng in this country which, for want of a well-stated 
and clearly understood philosophy of art, is gaining satisfac- 
tion by imitating the work accomplished in the foreign theatre 
before the outbreak of the present war (1917). What will 
follow the revolt, as carried on in the Little Theatre groups, 
will depend in the future on how soon the real leaders in the 
revolt strike out along paths of native originality. An art 
movement that is merely imitative, that is merely receptive 
of ideas formulated and executed elsewhere, that is not cog- 
nizant of its own en\aronment, is likely to fall into the slough 
of borrowed and ill-digested ideals, and to assume lightly 
a morality which does not apply imminently to its own 
existence. 

We hear a great deal about Little Theatres. A whole 
book has been written on the subject by Constance D'Arcy 
Mackay. We hear a great deal about "Community Thea- 
tres" in this country. But when we approach the communal 
idea, we must realize that it applies not only to Little Theatres, 
but is the underlying factor in pageantry, masques, and out- 
door performances given in Greek Theatres and forest groves. 
Percy Mackaye has written an exhaustive treatise on the 
subject in a book entitled "The Civic Theatre." Mackaye 
has much to justify his hope for a Civic Theatre. Pageants 
are multiplying, universities are showing wider interests in 
the play, audiences are organizing into Drama Leagues 
and Stage Societies, and educators are using the pageant and 
dance as essential elements in the training of youth. Mr. 
Mackaye's civic idea is of even broader and more far-reaching 
effect than the idea of the Community Theatre, though they 
both take their root of being in the will of the people. The 
Civic Theatre Movement is democratic. So is the little 
Theatre Movement, though not as sweeping in its application. 

When we examine the repertories of the Little Theatres, 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 311 

in the hope of discovering something in them bearing directly 
on the community, we most Hkely find Schnitzler's " Anatole" 
gasping for Kfe in the arid bad-lands of Arizona! We can 
expect little impress from such misplaced enthusiasm. There 
is much incongruity in the selection of repertories for the 
theatres of isolated communities. When attention is called 
to such incongruity, these ambitious groups of art revolu- 
tionists give no heed; they lose sight of their raison d'etre 
in a wild, conceited defiance of the well-tried economic law 
of supply and demand — a law which governs art as well as 
commerce. 

Never yet has a Director of one of these Little Theatres 
failed, when asked to justify the existence of the Little 
Theatre, to discuss very volubly the underlying impulse 
which governed the Abbey Theatre and the Manchester 
Theatre, and which resulted in the creation of native schools 
of drama in England and in Ireland. But one soon finds that 
these Directors have given scant thought to the social condi- 
tions which created such art centres in Great Britain. Their 
effectiveness was due, very largely, to the fact that they en- 
couraged native playwrights who were endowed with common 
tradition, with sympathetic national vision, and with an 
individual dramatic gift, together with a literary sense of the 
fitness of things. 

At the time of the establishment of the Irish National 
Dramatic Society, W. B. Yeats was asked to state the object 
of the movement, and he did so in these words : 

"Our movement is a return to the people . . . and the 
drama of society would but magnify a condition of life which 
the countryman and the artisan could but copy to their hurt. 
The play that is to give them a quite natural pleasure should 
either tell them of their own life, or of that life of poetry 
where every man can see his own image, because there alone 
does human nature escape from arbitrary conditions. Plays 



312 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

about drawing-rooms are written for the middle classes of 
great cities, for the classes who live in drawing-rooms, but if 
you would uplift the man of the roads you must write about 
the roads, or about the people of romance, or about great his- 
torical people.'* 

This statement by Yeats may not be the whole truth under- 
lying the history of the Irish Theatre, but it does measure 
some of the community fervor and spirit prompting the Irish 
dramatists. When these writers, under the inspiration of 
Yeats and Miss Horniman, discovered themselves, it was 
not in any laboratory the self-revelation was made, even 
though most of them approached their work with the definite 
idea that they would do for their own land what Ibsen had 
done for the Scandinavian countries. They instinctively 
felt pledged to a reflection of the life they knew well, in plays 
which were to appeal through character, problem, tragedy, 
and humor to those who knew that life. 

Of course one does not care to emphasize too insistently 
the community idea as it applies to dramatic writing, for 
fear of its narrowing the general appeal of the playwright. 
Many dramas in the Irish repertory, notably those by S. L. 
Robinson and T. C. Murray, were so local as to be hardly 
understood outside their own environment. Miss Baker's 
" Chains, " produced in New York, v/as brought to ruin in a 
frantic effort to adapt its English condition to American 
understanding. J. O. Francis's "Change," despite its in- 
tellectual appeal of syndicalism, was too Welsh, too non- 
conformist; Granville Barker's "Waste" was too Enghsh in 
its politics; Githa Sowerby's "Rutherford and Sons" and 
Stanley Houghton's "Hindle Wakes" were too middle-class 
in their morality for American comprehension. 

Yet these plays were born of the direct spirit which prompts 
the community idea in the Little Theatres to-day. They were 
given in the most adequate and least expensive manner. 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 313 

pointing to a tendency, which is rapidly gaining headway in 
the theatre, to present the very best the drama affords in the 
most inexpensive manner. We wonder if there will arrive a 
time when a Wisconsin or a Michigan or a California play- 
wright will, under the inspiration of the community idea, 
write plays so aloof from the life of Boston, New York, and 
Philadelphia, as to be scarcely understood by the cosmo- 
politan audiences of those cities. We do not think that such 
will be the case. 

But we do see a hope that, in the establishment of Little 
Theatres, groups of playwrights will spring up throughout 
the country, pledged, as the Irish Players were pledged, to a 
reflection of the problems and ideals of the immediate com- 
munity. This country is large enough and diversified enough, 
geographically and temperamentally, to foster such a variety. 
Already such groups have come to the front, conscious of 
working for a common cause. While we cannot point, with 
any too much pride, to the native plays produced by the 
Washington Square writers, none the less have they developed 
out of a spirit of artistic cooperation, and they have issued a 
volume which is measure of the type of work done by them. 
In his preface, the Director, Edward Goodman, has this to 
say : " So far we have produced thirty-two plays, of one-act 
and greater length, and of these twenty have been American. 
The emphasis of our interest has been placed on the American 
playwright, because we feel that no American theatre can 
be really successful unless it develops a native drama to present 
and interpret those emotions, ideas, characters, and condi- 
tions with which we, as Americans, are primarily concerned. 
Of these twenty American plays the Drama League has 
selected four for this volume of its series. Excluding comment 
on my farce ... I think it may be said that these repre- 
sent a fair example of the success the Players have met with 
in trying to encourage the writing of American plays with 



314 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

* freshness and sincerity of theme and development; skil- 
ful delineation of character; non-didactic presentation of 
an idea; and dramatic and esthetic effectiveness without 
theatricalism.' " 

Tliis, therefore, is the commendable purpose of the dram- 
atists of the Washington Square school. But one cannot 
quite discover the dominant Americanism in what they have 
thus far done, nor in the plays that have been published. 

The Wisconsin book of plays, issued under the encourage- 
ment of Professor Thomas H. Dickinson, illustrates that, 
without any propaganda effort, a few playwrights can pro- 
duce something of community value. This intent is shown 
in Dickinson's foreword, wherein he writes : " The majority of 
the plays in the series belong to the repertory of the Society 
[Wisconsin Dramatic Society], and have been presented in 
regular performances in Madison and Milwaukee, and on 
tour in other places in the Middle West. The authors of these 
plays disclaim any desire whatever to inaugurate a new order 
of play-writing. Their chief purpose, aside from the personal 
motive that impels every work jof art, has been to provide for 
the section in which they live the impulse of the practise of an 
art as a corrective of standards, as distinguished from the 
principle of a referendum of standards to the people." 

This would appear to be much nearer the idea prompting 
the Irish National Theatre and the Manchester Theatre 
than the efforts of the Washington Square Players as ex- 
pressed by their Director. 

In a similar spirit the Provincetown Players banded them- 
selves together, cast in a mould which distinguishes them from 
the other groups working along the same line of revolt. " The 
present organization," so the prospectus runs, " is the outcome 
of a group of people interested in the theatre, who gathered 
spontaneously, during two summers, at Provincetown, Mass., 
for the purpose of writing, producing and acting their own 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 315 

plays." For a statement of intention, this comment is un- 
satisfactory and ill-digested, nor do the plays issued by them 
in any way show that their dissatisfaction over the theatre 
has resulted in anything with which they might be justly 
satisfied. 

Unfortunately, our present art restlessness in this country 
has been brought about by an external irritation. The 
English revolt against the theatre, at its very outset, began 
in pregnant times — the significant Nineties of the last 
century. This revolt had the advantage of a tradition im- 
mediately back of it, represented by William Morris and John 
Ruskin. It gained its greatest strength in the well-founded 
principles of Fabian socialism. In this atmosphere, the 
younger men, who afterwards became England's "new" 
dramatists, among whom Shaw was the dominant personality, 
were taught to think sanely about social conditions and, what 
is more significant, to think logically. The advance movement 
in England was fostered by J. T. Grein's Independent Thea- 
tre, the Stage Society, Granville Barker's Court Theatre, 
and, finally, Charles Frohman's Repertory Theatre. 

The revolt against the existing theatrical condition in 
London came also from an immediate necessity: the neces- 
sity of saving from annihilation independence of thought in 
England. The pressure of Censorship tended to deny 
Englishmen the right to accept continental ideas, or to think 
freely on moral questions. The art lovers of England learned 
their lesson from the Theatre Libre, in Paris, and from the 
Freie Buhne, in Berlin. They read Ibsen, and from him 
learned, as America did later, the value of the printed play. 
In their talk they discussed freely the then "new" social 
propaganda which now seems to be so self-evident that Ibsen, 
in many ways, has grown old-fashioned. From this condition 
came the present realistic and literary English drama. 

In like fashion are there forces at work to-day — forces 



316 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

governing the theatre, the dramatist, and audiences; forces 
which point to a rehabilitation of the poetic drama in rela- 
tion to 'the higher fervor of man. Such dramas are being 
aided and abetted by scenery which suggests broad sweeps of 
emotion, instead of aiming at a literal realism competing with 
the real thing. In other words, the new forces, to-day, are 
pointing to a spiritual drama. 

America has had no such intellectual training for the art 
revolt. In the theatre, we have been naively imitative, and 
even now, in a transition period, we are groping for something 
which does not appear distinctly to our imaginations. The 
Little Theatre Movement is in a tumult of experimentation. 
Its expression is crude and intellectually undisciplined. It 
has not yet done what a real spirit of revolt in art should do. 
It courts suspicion because of its touch of dilettantism. In 
its youthful defiance, it sometimes lets slip the idea of the 
theatre as a dignified social institution. It has, on the one 
hand, over-emphasized the importance of the word " Little," 
making a fetish of the physical playhouse, rather than em- 
phasizing the spiritual content of the play; and, on the other 
hand, it has failed to make room in its scheme for the very 
community about which it is forever speaking. 

As a Director of one of the Little Theatres has written: 
" While theoretically the aims and ideals and purposes of the 
Little Theatre are decidedly worth while, unfortunately the 
whole movement has received something of a black eye, 
from the fact that the practitioners of this so-called art of 
the little theatre have been either faddists or people utterly 
ignorant of the rudiments of production. It seems to me too 
bad that the word * theatre,' frightfully overworked, should 
have to bear the burden of so many sins. There was a time 
when one had a fairly adequate idea of what one would see 
in a theatre. But, to-day, the word * theatre' has to cover 
every kind of performance, from a moving-picture to a mono- 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 317 

logue. I wonder what will become of the Little Theatre. 
I feel certain that unless it does establish some definite con- 
tact with community life, it is doomed. But, on the other 
hand, I believe that it is conceivable that the Little Theatre, 
sanely handled and intellectually directed, might be the seed 
from which a real community theatre might spring." 

Thus far the Little Theatre Movement has failed to gain 
the full confidence of the public. If it has not impressed the 
commercial manager, the excuse might be that the manager is 
impervious to new ideas. But the Little Theatres have failed 
to justify themselves, chiefly because they have not earned a 
living from the community in which they exist; so many of 
them end each year with a deficit. The commercial manager 
has been spurred by this new art movement into accepting, 
occasionally, a play of real literary worth; almost invariably 
such a play has spelled loss to him. This loss may be at- 
tributed to the fact that some of the plays presented, like 
"Rutherford and Sons," "Change" and "Prunella," are 
"repertory" plays, rather than "long run" plays. But the 
manager may often rightly claim that his "highbrow" play 
was not even supported by the small group of "intellectuals" 
or "esthetes" to whom the Little Theatres are, in a way, 
pledged to cater, and who are themselves pledged to support 
the "Movement." 

While it is true that the Little Theatres have been estab% 
lished with an idea that economically they should not com- 
pete with the commercial theatre, the very casualness of their 
existence makes them indifferent to the necessity of being 
self-supporting; though they aim to satisfy the intellectual 
part of their clientele, they often hang as a dead-weight around 
the neck of the community, and, without the consuming desire 
of justifying their existence, try to satisfy their own limited 
tastes. 

So far the Little Theatres throughout the country have 



31S THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

failed to produce any great playwrights, any original direc- 
tors; and they have been indifferent to the working out of 
any set body of ideas. They seem to have gained nothing of 
permanent constructive value from their experience. But it 
may be that, from an irresponsible turning of the spade, by 
the loosening of the rocky elements of commercialism in an 
untilled dramatic soil yet to be tested for its richness, some 
good will result. At least, it is better to work, however un- 
wittingly, against a commercialism in the theatre which is 
deadening, than to remain satisfied with a theatre dominated 
by the " Broadway idea." 

It is well to approach the subject of Little Theatres nega- 
tively, if we would gain a true perspective regarding the 
positive results of individual examples. It cannot be denied 
that the groups of people interested in the theatre who have 
banded themselves into artistic communities are significant 
in themselves. But, after extended investigation, one must 
deplore the fact that these groups are reproducing themselves 
in unthinking rapidity, without fully knowing what is the 
necessity which creates the Little Theatre Movement in 
general. These independent art movements represent a 
protest; wherever a revolt springs up in small communities, 
its presence measures the discontent of a particular group 
with the character of the amusement supplied through the 
regular commercial theatrical channels. If these fast mul- 
tiplying centres organize themselves in a way to become a 
menace to the local theatres, then the commercial syndicate 
will be bound, sooner or later, to realize that in the Little 
Theatre Movement lies its future undoing. 

It was out of the discontent created by the Theatrical 
Trust that the first signs of artistic revolt in America took 
place. The Independent Theatre Company, in the early Nine- 
ties, gave to New York its first Ibsen performance, because 
no regular manager would attempt Ibsen. This company 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 319 

was probably imitative of the Stage Society in London, even 
as the National Art Theatre Society, of 1903, was a reflec- 
tion in New York of the agitation in London for a National 
Theatre, started by Henry Arthur Jones. The self-conscious 
organizing of the New Theatre in New York was symbolical 
of the wrong way in which artistic revolt in the theatre has 
been conducted by American reformers. The idea that here- 
tofore predominated was that money can establish anything, 
and establish it quickly. We thought that, with the erection 
of a building dedicated to high art, good drama and good 
taste would readily flow in. The experiment proved that such 
was not the case. 

The first Little Theatre in America saw the light in Boston. 
It was unwisely run on private capital, and soon this pioneer 
effort was struggling for existence. At this moment, when the 
Little Theatre Movement is at its height in this country, 
the Boston playhouse remains dark. Such a failure has not 
received careful consideration from the other organizing 
groups. Nowhere has there been a proper analysis of why 
the Boston Little Theatre failed, or why later on the Phila- 
delphia Little Theatre failed. Groups are rushing in without 
giving thought to the pitfalls which have already confronted 
others; without measuring the intensity with which a com- 
munity really desires good art. The idea of a Little Theatre 
is a contagious one, and the epidemic rages. 

The philosophy of the movement seems to be this: that 
the theatre, being a social institution, the sooner we socialize 
it the better it will be for the freedom of art. But should not 
the situation be entirely reversed? The sooner we create 
Vvdthin people a real love for, and understanding of art, the 
sooner will the theatre, dominated by the revolutionary 
group of artists, become socialized through a social demand 
for it. 

We wonder whether the Washington Square Players, with 



320 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

all their community ambitions, and with all their independ- 
ence, have satisfied their own clientele sufficiently to make 
a livehhood, or whether they have attracted the pubHc suf- 
ficiently to give them encouragement for their future per- 
manence. The Organization has presented plays which are 
interesting, but their choice of repertory has not been repre- 
sentative of what theatregoers really want. The|^ are not 
even organized as a socialized group, but came into being 
purely as experimenters, dominated by certain esthetic man- 
nerisms. Such a group of esthetes must inevitably stand 
outside the real movement of the theatre to-day — outside 
the real revolt. They have only imitated in spirit a conti- 
nental idea which has become a fixed idea among amateurs. 
When the continental idea gets the upper hold of a group of 
young workers, it is hard to shake it off. 

With the advent of the Little Theatre Movement, there has 
developed into being the laboratory method in the theatre. 
It has now become a popular belief that not only is drama 
an art which under the microscope of college specializa- 
tion can be reduced to technical terms, but that the theatre 
is a social institution whose functions may be taught, even 
as architecture or music. In Pittsburgh, at the School of 
Technology, this laboratory method is carried out to its 
fullest extent, with the cooperation of the School of Design 
and the School of Music. The work of the Department of 
Dramatic Arts, so it is definitely stated, is planned to give the 
student a general knowledge of tlie technique of the drama, 
approaching it by literary and historical courses, as well as 
through a severe training in practical technical work. Its 
course in dcama offers an opportunity for the student to 
study the theatre itself in its several aspects. 

Elsewhere, this laboratory method is being preached to 
even fuller extent. There are some who go so far as to desire, 
instead of a school of drama for the novice, a "University" 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 321 

of the theatre, where the professional managers, actors, and 
scenic artists may, so to speak, take post-graduate courses; 
may come to this university to " try out" pUiys and formulate 
principles which later they may bring back to the professional 
theatre itself. 

The laboratory idea seems to be dominant in the Little 
Theatre Movement. Instead of the word "laboratory," 
it were well to substitute the word "experimental." As long 
as Little Theatres, in this country, persist in the principle of 
experimentalism, rather than attempt to court the idea of 
competition with professionalism, they will be beneficial 
wherever they are established. Their presence indicates 
there is a large body of people whose interest is waiting to 
be unified in the cause of art, — a unification different from 
the organizing of audiences, which is the fundamental idea 
of the Drama League of America. They need someone to 
discover for them the real national requirements, and they 
await some vigorous statement of the true mission of the 
Little Theatre. 

In the present discussion, such a playhouse as Winthrop 
Ames's Little Theatre, or Charles Hopkins's Punch and Judy 
Theatre, in New York, should be ruled out. Not only are 
both of these classed as commercial houses, but they are also 
farthest away from the amateur spirit. They are presided 
over by men who happen to be anxious to do artistic work in 
a professional manner. There are some Little Theatres dom- 
inated entirely by the educational idea. They have come 
into being with a sociological purpose. Such playhouses 
are those encouraged by Hull House, Chicago, and by the 
Henry Street Settlement, New York. If you will examine the 
repertory of the Hull House Players, you will find one that 
gives them an honorable history, as far as amateur ambition 
is concerned. While the Hull House Players have attracted 
to them the intellectual and artistic interests of Chicago, and 



322 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

while they have entertained most of the well-known literary 
visitors who have come to America from abroad, they have 
never once courted the idea of professionalism. And though 
they have persisted, for over a decade, it cannot be said that 
they have in any way influenced the theatrical situation in 
Chicago. Yet, to their credit let it be recorded that they have 
given a hearing to many young American playwrights anxious 
to deal with social questions; and in some respects they have 
been more loyal to writers, like Galsworthy, than the legiti- 
mate theatre itself. They have done their work knowingly, 
and in the highest sense they have trained their amateur ac- 
tors in a tradition which undoubtedly reacts on their taste 
to its betterment. 

We have heard much about the educational idea in the 
theatre, about educational dramatics and the educational 
theatre for children, as discussed by Mrs. Minnie Herts 
Heniger and Mrs. Emma Sheridan Fry. But while the dra- 
matic instinct is a valuable educational adjunct, used in 
schools and social centres to excellent advantage, the tendency 
is to overdo it, to sentimentalize the work with the idea 
that self-expression on the part of children is better than self- 
observation of a thing artistically done by professionals in 
the professional theatre. 

I can see no value in the educational idea as applied to the 
theatre, except in so far as it will tend to help create in the 
multitude a sincere taste for drama which will later increase 
the intelligence of the theatre-going public. That is why it 
was wise to keep distinct from each other the social work 
of the Henry Street Settlement and the artistic work of its 
dramatic department — a distinction which resulted in the 
establishment of the Neighborhood Playhouse under the 
guidance of two such ambitious and generous Directors as 
the Misses Lewisohn. 

With all the newspaper heralding of the Washington Square 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 323 

Players, with all the efforts of the Toy Theatre, in Boston, 
and the Little Theatre, in Philadelphia, and even with the 
undeniable art shown in Winthrop Ames's Little Theatre, 
it took the quiet, unassuming little theatre on Grand Street, 
New York, to make the reputation of a dramatist and to 
bring him into popular vogue. The Neighborhood Playhouse, 
through its presentation of Dunsany's " A Night at an Inn," 
and its later performances given in most adequate manner 
of "The Queen's Enemies" and "The Ghttering Gate," 
helped to establish the work of Lord Dunsany in the minds 
of the American public. 

To the credit of the Misses Lewisohn, two things are worthy 
of note — that they have actually encouraged and popu- 
larized a real and new pla\'wright, a feat accomplished by no 
other Little Theatre; and that, in a city over-ridden by 
the "Broadway idea," they have forced an interested public 
to go all the way down to Grand Street, in order to witness 
performances which would have gone on, v/ere the up-town 
public present or absent. Another excellent point in favor 
of the Neighborhood Playhouse is that, in accord with the 
laboratory method, which has been put into practice by 
Professor Baker, at Harvard, Mr. Sam Hume, in Detroit, 
and others elsewhere, it has manufactured its own costumes 
and scenery, done in the new manner of decoration and 
design, and in line with the most advanced methods of 
stagecraft. In addition to which, they have been enabled to 
offer to their community worthwhile drama that could be 
sold at the nominal charge of twenty-five and fifty cents. 
The Misses Lewisohn have lived up to their original inten- 
tion, stated in very definite terms in their initial prospectus. 
Therein it was claimed that the Neighborhood Playhouse 
hoped to be a community theatre, where the traditions of 
the neighborhood could find artistic expression, where anyone 
with special gifts could contribute his talents, and where 



324 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

interesting productions of serious plays and comedies, as 
well as of the lighter forms of entertainment, could be found. 
By the variety of its programmes, the Playhouse aims to 
appeal to a public of diverse tastes, interests, and ages, and 
in this way to share in the life of the community. 

Another independent theatre idea was nurtured and fos- 
tered by a settlement group. When Stuart Walker first 
conceived his Portmanteau Theatre, he gave his initial dress- 
rehearsal at Christadora House, in New York. It was then 
his idea to present plays with the best actors available, and 
with the best scenery and costumes, for the entertainment of 
the people of the Settlement; after which the Portmanteau 
Theatre, in order to be self-supporting, would act profes- 
sionally in homes, schools, and clubs. Then Mr. W^alker 
began to branch out, until now we fear that, however original 
his idea of a portable, folding theatre, which can be carried 
to all points of the compass, and however much we have 
enjoyed the presentation of such pieces as "Gammer Gur- 
ton's Needle" and Lord Dunsany's "King Argimenes," a 
tendency is to be seen on his part to lose perspective of the 
pioneer character of his work. Because of cordial public 
recognition, he shows an inclination to branch out into the 
competitive field of the theatre, and seems anxious to shake 
from his shoulders the perfectly legitimate and commendable 
role of amateur. Mr. W^alker would be helping the artistic 
revolt were he to rest content to remain a pioneer, inculcating 
in people a taste for the better type of drama, presented in 
an artistic and inexpensive way. His Little Theatre proves 
most conclusively the practicality of the points brought for- 
ward by Professor Dickinson in his book, " The Case of Amer- 
ican Drama," and summed up in the belief that what 
American dramatic art is suffering from to-day is the dis- 
tortion of values in the theatre. 

Mr. Walker's productions do not depend upon real estate. 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 325 

His whole artistic contribution consists in the use of para- 
phernalia which allows him to set his stage in a school-room 
or bring his stage to a parlor. The Portmanteau Theatre does 
not, in fact, depend on any land values whatsoever. It has 
the ambulatory character of the "circuit rider," who needed 
no church in which to preach, his pulpit being the pommel 
of a saddle. The sooner the theatre, economically, makes it 
possible for productions to be brought to the people, rather 
than for the people to be brought, through extensive adver- 
tising and expensive costuming, to the theatre, the sooner 
will the socializing of the theatre take place. Other centres, 
upholding the workshop idea, have already put into effect 
a similar travelling company with a portable stage modelled 
after the manner of Stuart Walker's. It would not surprise 
us to find later on this example greeted eagerly by isolated 
communities in the rural districts, where stage accessories 
are difficult to procure. Did not the English Miracle Plays 
and the French My stores develop the pageant wagon? 

Nearly all the large cities in the United States at the pres- 
ent time have Little Theatres, or are about to establish them. 
We find them in Indianapolis, in Detroit, in Milwaukee, in 
St. Louis, in Kansas City, in the University of North Dakota, 
in the Agricultural College of Fargo, and from there straight 
on to the Pacific coast. They are all trying to work along 
the same lines. In fact, many of them have the same reper- 
tories. Whether the Little Playhouse Company of Cincin- 
nati, or the Players Workshop of Chicago, or the Players 
Club of San Francisco; whether the Lake Forest Players, 
or the Drama League Players of W^ashington, — they are all 
striving to present the unusual and to do the uncommercial 
thing. 

It is interesting to note, by the repetition of plays from 
town to town, what dramas have been found peculiarly 
adapted to the demands of the Little Theatre; how cordial 



326 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Little Theatre audiences have been to the one-act play, not 
only because it represents less outlay in the matter of pro- 
duction, but because there is something peculiarly fitting that 
a little play should be given in a Little Theatre. 

The one-act play is the vogue to-day — not alone in vaude- 
ville, where only twenty minutes may be the longest time 
devoted to a "turn"; not only in the legitimate theatre, 
where it is used on rare occasions; but in the experimental 
theatre, where the playwrights are usually given experience 
in rehearsing, which they sorely need and which the legitimate 
theatre will not, under present conditions, afford them. The 
consequence is, George Middleton and Percival Wilde and 
Oliphant Down, and many others of the younger American 
playwrights, whose dramas, though published, have not been 
given to the public in the legitimate theatre, have found the 
requisite haven in the community playhouses. 

So recognized is it that the one-act form is best suited for 
the Little Theatre movement, that all the important attempts 
of the Washington Square Players have been one-act; the 
Provincetown Players have written nothing but one-act 
plays; Professor Dickinson's group of writers in Wisconsin 
turned to the one-act form. And the University of North 
Dakota has offered courses in the technique of the one-act 
play, the Bankside Theatre and the Sock and Buskin Society 
of that institution producing the plays written in class. 

This aptness for the one-act play in the Little Theatre does 
not necessarily mean that a full-grown play cannot be done 
in a small place. Mr. Ames has shown how well it can be 
done in a professional way. But, as soon as a full play is 
given, it demands, if it be a play of any acting possibility, of 
any literary value and spiritual content, a consistent note of 
presentation which the amateurs — who generally are the 
actors in the Little Theatres — cannot sustain or even hope 
to approach. 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 327 

It may be taken as one of the positive results of the Little 
Theatre Movement, that it is doing more than the professional 
theatre to encourage the unknown playwright. It is training 
for legitimate stage work a group of enthusiasts who in the 
future will do much to revolutionize the professional stage. 
As the number of theatres increases, so will the range of in- 
fluence increase likewise. What is now lost, in a well-stated 
object, is counterbalanced by a gain in effect on the immediate 
communities. The Little Theatres are striving for something, 
as yet unstated, but which is definitely opposed to the com- 
mercial idea. 

At Hull House, in Chicago, "Justice," "The Pigeon," 
"The Silver Box," "The Tragedy of Nan," and countless 
other plays which are representative of the best in modern 
English drama have been given. But the workers there have 
never thought, so we have been led to believe, that as an 
amateur organization they could ever compete with the pro- 
fessional, however near they might reach a professional 
standard. What we should understand is this: recognition 
on the part of the public that these Little Theatres are the 
real centres of art, rather than centres of experimentation, 
will tend to lower the standard of the professional stage, 
and, certainly, the stage is low enough at the present time, 
both in acting and in details of execution! If the amateurs 
throughout the country are to become professional, then they 
must cease being amateurs. In these Little Theatres, the 
only one who need not be an amateur is the playwright. His 
standard may be high, and should be high; a rigorous de- 
mand for the best drama on the part even of the amateur 
actor should do much to raise the standard of the American 
dramatist's art. 

Sometimes these Little Theatres assume, through the genius 
of an individual worker, the proportions and importance of 
the professional theatre; though the productions are given 



328 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

with the assistance of amateurs, the dominant personaHty of 
the Director persists. However commendable, in some re- 
spects, the efforts of the Washington Square Players may be, 
they have not approached the art of the theatre with that 
humihty which would make them realize that, if they are to 
compete with Broadway, as their geographical position in 
New York City would lead one to think they were trying to 
do, their one hope for salvation would be to place themselves 
in the hands of a competent stage-director. 

The work of Sam Hume, a graduate of Harvard, has been 
in the new stage art. We have seen his stage models shaped 
in accord with theories learned from Gordon Craig and Stan- 
islavsky. It is encouraging to note that the young Amer- 
ican decorator, who is in the new movement, is more balanced 
in the use of the theories of line and mass, of pure design and 
mood, than the continental artist. Robert Edmond Jones, 
who watched the work of Reinhardt, in Berlin, and who 
studied abroad, has a natural gift for inventiveness with 
color; he is another excellent example of the hope for the 
future. Both Hume and Jones are doing creative work, and 
their effect has been seen in many productions for the Little 
Theatres. Both men have experimented with line, have shown 
practically to the practical theatrical manager how the new 
art may be time-saving as well as money-saving, may be 
within taste and likewise fulfil all the demands of an over- 
pampered taste which the commercial theatre has catered to 
for so many years. Hume has written sanely on the new 
scenic theories as propounded by the foreign experimenters, 
and he has proceeded to put into practice, just as Jones has 
put into practice for the professional manager, what he has 
learned. 

Hume has been experimenting with Little Theatres, serv- 
ing as the head of the Arts and Crafts Theatre in Detroit. 
He is the one Director of a Little Theatre who has, thus far, 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 329 

considered the indisputable fact of supply and demand. 
It was a fact recognized by the London Stage Society, when 
that body decided, during its existence, to give only two even- 
ing performances and one matinee of each production, open 
to members only, who did not buy their seats, but who sub- 
scribed for membership to the Society, thus evading the 
Censor, and permitting them to give performances on Sun- 
day. The Provincetown Players have followed the external 
idea of the Stage Society. It was left for Mr. Hume, in De- 
troit, to adopt the spirit. "Our season here," he writes, 
"is assured by subscription. We make one production a 
month, and give three performances — all there is a demand 
for at present. We beheved it wiser to start with the de- 
mand, and let our organization and number of performances 
expand as the demand increases, rather than to begin with 
an imagined demand which would leave us at the end of the 
season with a debt." 

This is surely a wise approach, a wise experimenting with 
public taste; it reduces to a minimum the risk which has 
made the commercial manager accept plays with his eye 
fixed on box-office receipts. It also allows the Director, in 
this particular case Mr. Hume, to put into practice his 
artistic ambitions. At various times, subscribers to the 
Arts and Crafts Theatre, in Detroit, have been given pro- 
ductions of the Chester Miracle drama, "Abraham and 
Isaac," and Laurence Housman's "The Chinese Lantern." 
They have borrowed plays from the Wisconsin repertory, 
from the Washington Square Players, from the Provincetown 
Players, and have drawn likewise from the dramas of the 
Glasgow Repertory Theatre. With them, as with the Wash- 
ington Square Players, Maeterlinck has offered large possi- 
bihties, and with them, as with the Neighborhood Play- 
house and the Portmanteau Theatre, Dunsany is in great 
demand. 



330 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

These Little Theatres throughout the country are eagerly 
watching the work being done by other related organizations, 
and are anxious to exchange tried successes. This interplay 
of ideas and productions points the way to the possibility of 
a chain of Little Theatres being established some day, as 
soon as they are individually well-founded in the community 
— thus assuring them a local permanence — and forming a 
circuit for the closer union of their efforts. This circuit would 
result in a more effective campaign against- the commercial 
circuit now bringing to isolated communities the poorest 
pieces of a past New York theatrical season. Already we 
find that the Wisconsin Players have \dsited Chicago and 
Pittsburgh; that the Washington Square Players have had a 
second company on the road; that the Portmanteau Theatre 
has travelled to the coast, and gained for itself a recognition 
which is worthy. 

Mr. Hume, in Detroit, has done another estimable thing, 
and in doing so he has declared his good intention of reaching 
the full value of the community idea. " I do not look upon 
the Little Theatre as a laboratory," he writes, "where a few 
people work out their own personal and usually very queer 
and highly speciaKzed ideas; but a theatre which, to justify 
its existence, must establish some definite point of contact 
with community life." 

Immediately on assuming control of the Arts and Crafts 
Theatre, he offered a prize of one hundred dollars for a play 
written by a Michigan man, being careful also in his first bill 
to present a piece by a native dramatist of Detroit. This 
offering of prizes, either in the form of money, or in the form 
of an assured production, has become quite common among 
the Little Theatres. In Boston, for a number of years, John 
Craig, of the Castle Square Theatre, has cooperated with 
Professor Baker, of Harvard, and has given adequate pro- 
ductions of the prize plays coming from "Workshop 47." 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 331 

In this way, Fred Ballard, author of " Believe Me, Xantippe!" 
and "Young America," obtained his first hearing. When we 
discover small communities ambitious enough to offer the 
same incentive, in order to discover talents ^ear at hand, 
we mark an encouraging possibility in the Little Theatre 
Movement. 

The Prairie Playhouse, of Galesburg, Illinois, owned and 
directed by private individuals within the community, was 
established for the special purpose of awakening and develop- 
ing the rich dramatic field which lies as yet untouched in the 
upper Mississippi Valley. A prize was offered for the best 
one-act play which "the Prairie Playhouse will produce 
carefully and artistically; will pay the author ten dollars per 
night every night of production (three nights guaranteed); 
will reserve no rights over . . . after production; and will 
use its influence to get . . . before a larger pubHc." We can 
imagine Galesburg closing its shops in order to finish manu- 
scripts in time! The positive effect of such activity is to 
open many new possibilities to the American dramatist, the 
same possibilities as were recognized by Professor Dicldnson, 
Zona Gale, and William Ellery Leonard in their writing for 
the Wisconsin Dramatic Society. 

At the University of North Dakota, under the guidance of 
Professor Frederick H. Koch, the students have produced 
such an ambitious reflection of community tradition as " The 
Pageant of the Northwest," given at the natural Bankside 
Theatre of the University, May 28, 1914. This piece has 
brought into practice a curious and interesting experiment 
on the part of Professor Koch, who believes not only in a 
community theatre, but in community playwriting as well. 
His idea is that, in a class of eighteen or twenty, under the 
guidance of an Instructor, an artistic work can be constructed 
by suggestions received from all the members of the group 
working together. Not only was the " Pageant of the North- 



332 THE AMERICAN DRAINIATIST 

west" written in collaboration, but during the Shakespeare 
Tercentenary season, an ambitious piece, entitled "Shake- 
speare, the Playmaker," was effectively carried through by 
Professor Koch, who had under his inspiration twenty student 
dramatists. Following that work, the course in one-act play- 
writing was offered students, many of the pieces forth- 
coming reflecting the life of North Dakota. For example, 
one young dramatist wrote a play, called " Wanted a Farmer," 
which was suggested by a visit of the North Dakota Bachelor 
Farmers to the Chicago Live Stock Show. Certainly, as 
local atmosphere, such a play is keeping very close to the 
soil! 

One beneficial result coming from the establishment of 
Little Playhouses in isolated communities is this: that even 
though they may not have the power of materially affecting 
the present theatrical situation, they may have the immediate 
power of shedding light in a community where light is sorely 
needed. 

On the prairies of North Dakota, at Fargo, where the Agri- 
cultural College is situated, the Little Country Theatre has 
done much to stimulate the latent imagination of a very 
mixed population — a population where seventy-two per 
cent, of the people are either foreign born or are of foreign 
descent. The object of the Little Country Theatre, its Di- 
rector says, is to produce such plays and exercises as can be 
easily staged in a country school, in the basement of a coun- 
try church, in the sitting-room of a home, in the village or 
town hall, or in any place where people assemble for social 
betterment. 

From this we can see that the educational side is para- 
mount in some of these Little Theatres, and that the artistic 
interest must necessarily be limited by the rural character of 
the audience. The community must be taken into considera- 
tion in the selection of a repertory. That is why it is unwise 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 333 

for a Director to think Schnitzler's " Anatole" is suited to the 
tastes of the arid plains of Arizona! It is a principle which 
the commercial manager may say he has himself tried to 
follow — a principle which he sums up in the belief that he 
is giving the public what it wants. The question v/hich nat- 
urally comes to us is whether the manager is capable of 
judging what the public wants, whether he has sufficient 
evidence of the trend of popular taste. The argument of 
many reformers in revolt against the commercial manager 
is that, on the one hand, he shows no artistic ambition, and, 
on the other hand, he does not rightly measure what all the 
public wants. He caters to the lov/est standard of taste. 

When Bertram Harrison assumed control of the Municipal 
Theatre in Northampton, Massachusetts, he was confronted 
with an interesting problem. The manager of any playhouse, 
which appeals to two very widely differing sets of people, 
indeed has a problem. The University, represented by Smith 
College, and the working classes, represented by the mill- 
town population, were the ones for whom Mr. Harrison had 
to cater. He was pledged to adopt a policy which would re- 
sult in the selection of plays according to a mean between 
these two extremes, every now and then attempting what the 
Little Theatre people might designate as " the artistic thing." 
His repertories have included plays which usually find their 
way into the stock regime. The consequence is, the North- 
ampton Players are, more or less, a stock company subject 
to municipal regulations. They depend, because of the special 
demands of the audiences, not so much on original productions 
as on productions leased from the legitimate commercial 
theatre because of their popular and their successful character. 
Therefore, Mr. Harrison's problem is different from the Little 
Theatre problem. It is at the same time both experimental 
and professional. 

The establishment of a Little Theatre does not guarantee 



334 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

that those who are in charge really know all that they should 
know about the theatre. The danger lies in the fact that a 
group of amateurs are experimenting with a valuable set of 
artistic tools. There are so many people who have a dis- 
gruntled attitude toward the theatre, and who assume that 
this attitude gives them a privileged knowledge regarding 
what the theatre really needs for its improvement. Particu- 
larly is there danger coming from University channels, where 
the authorities are now taking active interest in the dramatic 
enthusiasm shown among the student bodies. For some 
years, Dartmouth College, under the very striking direction 
of the students, not only gave worthy performances, which 
drove out the regular college musical inanity, but produced 
so w^ell that the people of Hanover, New Hampshire, expressed 
a willingness to support these productions during the season. 
The Dartmouth Dramatic Society became the artistic centre 
of community life. 

At Oberlin, Ohio, under Professor Philip D. Sherman, the 
work done by the College Dramatic Association has assumed 
such significant proportions that their store-room is suffi- 
ciently rich in stage properties and in costumes for them to 
be able to present, at any time, a most commendable reper- 
tory of plays. "Two years ago," said Professor Sherman, 
writing in October, 1916, "we brought scene-painters to 
Oberlin. ... In addition to staging plays, the Association 
brings before the students such companies as Stuart Walker's 
Portmanteau Theatre, the Coburn Players, and the Chicago 
Little Theatre Company." 

In other words, the University student is now being grad- 
uated with an idea that the drama is something to be acted, 
something to be mounted artistically, rather than something 
to be studied in such small structural detail that the spirit 
of the drama and the vitality of the playhouse are lost to 
view. 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 335 

But the University has to be careful in the part which it 
desires to play in the theatre revolt. It must realize that all 
this awakened interest in the drama did not come, originally, 
from the University, but from outside; that, until the stu- 
dents, through a wide-spread interest in the reading of plays, 
and through a revival of interest in the mechanical details of 
the theatre itself, clamored for courses in the drama, the 
University persisted in pointing to Restoration Drama as 
modern drama, and refused in the class-room to be more con- 
temporary than Sheridan. 

The reason why Professor Sherman is meeting with effec- 
tive results at Oberlin is that he is approaching the theatre, 
as Professor Koch is approaching it in North Dakota, not 
as one connected with a university, but as one connected with 
the theatre itself. The revolutionists, in their zeal, sometimes 
forget the theatre! 

The Little Theatre groups naturally turn to Professor 
George Pierce Baker, of Harvard, as the original source of 
their inspiration. What he has done in a practical way for 
the playhouse, what has emanated from his "Workshop 
47," has grown into something more than experiment. It 
has resulted in a practical illustration of the theory that 
dramatists, who were once born, can now, to a certain extent, 
be made. The general belief is that the University should 
leave its impress upon a body of dramaturgy. But it is our 
conviction that this is true only in so far as a body of doc- 
trine, emanating from a university, might educate a people, 
arousing their appreciation for better things. Of course, if 
the University could send forth dramatists filled with a seri- 
ous determination — men and women trained to the best 
technique, prompted by the best tradition — then so much 
the better for the stage. But where the University has yet 
to show its influence is in the very important matter of awak- 
ening the student body to ideas for the theatre, without which 



336 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

even the best technique is a mere husk. It is not the matter 
of technique that makes the dramatist, but the matter of 
dramatic instinct. One must be born with that. 

"Workshop 47" has turned out dramatists with an under- 
standing of stage technique, just as Columbia University 
has turned out a group of dramatists under the guidance of 
Professor Brander Matthews. This University interest has 
resulted, apart from the splendid pioneer work done by the 
Harvard Dramatic Association and the Yale Dramatic 
Association, in a determination on the part of the Universities 
to have their own community theatre. Already has this de- 
sire become an established fact in many of our University 
centres. But these playhouses should not be grouped in the 
Little Theatre Movement; being under University patronage, 
they will assuredly appeal to the University community, and 
will be prompted in selection of repertories by academic 
standards. It may be that some day Harvard, Yale, and 
Columbia will have their playhouses. Already have Yale, 
Harvard, Princeton, and the University of Pennsylvania 
given creditable performances. But, at the present experi- 
mental stage, it is unwise for a university to throw the gaunt- 
let down and challenge the commercial theatre by actual 
production. The Dramatic Department of Columbia Uni- 
versity may, through outside effort, bring to Hght, as John 
Craig, in affiHation with Harvard, has brought to light, many 
new dramatists. But it would be wrong to argue that had 
there been no "Workshop 47" and no Professor Baker, there 
would have been no Edward Sheldon, no Josephine Preston 
Peabody, no Percy Mackaye; and had there been no Pro- 
fessor Matthews, there would have been no William DeMille. 
There is no doubt, nevertheless, that because of the different 
drama courses given in the Colleges, the undergraduate soil 
has been prepared for many latent writers to flourish into 
being. Except for awakening interest in the future welfare 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 337 

of the theatre, the University experiments cannot have 
any appreciable effect at the present time on the dramatic 
situation. 

The Little Theatre Movement, in fine, must be regarded as 
a measure of restlessness, not entirely as pointing the way out 
of our theatrical difficulties. There is no reason to believe 
that the Little Theatre is going to be the salvation of dramatic 
art in the future. There is every reason to believe that the 
Little Theatre is doing excellent pioneer work in educating 
the public to a realization that the commercial theatre is 
letting slip untold possibilities. There is a tendency on the 
part of managers to keep their eyes on Professor Baker's 
yearly output, to follow closely the response given by com- 
munities to particular productions made by the experi- 
mental playhouses. For example, there is an interest shown 
on the part of the managers in securing some of the Dunsany 
plays which they once overlooked, but which are now brought 
to success in the Little Theatres, and are found to be of vital 
interest to the theatre-going public. The Little Theatre, 
likewise, has shown the manager the advisability of trying 
out plays before investing commercially in heavy productions. 

But, unfortunately, the Little Theatres have in many 
instances challenged the professional theatre. This has un- 
wittingly won for the movement the antagonism of profes- 
sional people. This antagonism has been increased by the 
self-assertiveness of such artistic centres as the Washington 
Square Players, who, no matter how extensive the criticism, 
or how wise, cannot be made to realize that they are bad 
actors, and are in need of a good director. David Belasco 
very rightly scored the Little Theatres on account of their 
inexperience, their defiance of the best dramatic traditions. 
"While I believe in amateur acting organizations," he said, 
"and want them to exist and receive every encouragement, 
it is unwise so to praise their efforts as to turn their heads 



338 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

completely, until these play-acting actors really think they 
can act." 

Mr. Belasco spoke a propos of the indiscriminate praise 
bestowed in certain quarters on the Washington Square 
Players. It came at a time when this organization, none too 
secure in its dramatic abilities, announced its intention of 
opening a school of acting. The irony of this announcement, 
in view of their past efforts, was not seen by them, inasmuch 
as, true to their class, they have no sense of humor regarding 
their work. 

The Washington Square Players are not singled out for 
any personal reason. One cannot help but appreciate the 
good work they have done. They simply stand as a warning 
because they have, thus far, more than any other amateur 
art group, come nearer the challenge of Broadway, and they 
have in consequence had drawn down upon them more of 
the limelight of publicity. No Little Theatre should com- 
pete with professionalism, but through high endeavor should 
strive to point the way toward a rehabilitation of the pro- 
fessional theatre of the future. 

The immediate problem of the Little Theatres throughout 
the country seems to be this: to make themselves so neces- 
sary to the community and to the country at large, as experi- 
mental playhouses, as the home of the repertory idea, that, 
due to their sincerity of purpose, they will win the confidence 
of the professional managers, who will watch them and the 
response given to them by the communities in which they 
exist, and will gain from this careful watchfulness an experi- 
ence which will gradually awaken them to the fact that their 
box-office standard is wrong — although not so entirely 
wrong as the reformers seem to think. 

That the unproduced American dramatists will look to the 
Little Theatres for encouragement is a foregone conclusion. 
That they should receive from the Little Theatres that en- 



CRAZE FOR LITTLE THEATRES 339 

couragement for which they are looking, is a natural conse- 
quence. But the Little Theatres cannot expect, once they 
have discovered the possibilities in a young playwright, to 
be able to hold that playwright to the narrow economic 
field in which they are working. The very experimental 
character of their work would indicate that they could never 
be regularly taken into the commercial field on a standard of 
amateurish. Their very experimental character, likewise, 
shows that, whatever their positive results, their most effi- 
cient influence will be in accustoming audiences to a better 
type of play and in allowing the unproduced playwright to 
externalize that which the manager will not risk. 

The Little Theatres may, on the one hand, hope to de- 
velop new dramatists. On the other hand, they may, at the 
present moment, consider themselves as guardians of the rep- 
ertory idea, until the professional theatre sees that the rep- 
ertory idea, with an established stock company, is one of 
the wise hopes of the future. It may be that when that time 
arrives, the Little Theatres will become so well established 
in the confidence of the community that their pioneer work 
will be done, and they will themselves become centres of a 
larger movement which takes on the character of profession- 
alism. In other words, having effected a social and economic 
change in the theatre, having brought to light new play- 
wrights, and experimented successfully with old ones, they 
may then, after having passed through the fires of experi- 
mentation, become not only a force but a factor in the real 
theatrical development.^ 

* A book on the subject of "Little Theatres" has been written 
by Constance D'Arcy Mackay (Henry Holt & Co.)- For interest- 
ing material regarding the spirit of Little Theatres, the reader is 
referred to a suggestive pamphlet written by Maurice Brown, en- 
titled " The Temple of Living Art." 

Professor Frederick H. Koch has issued a pamphlet entitled "The 
Amateur Theatre in the University," and another entitled "Amateur 



340 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Values in Pageantry." His experiment in community playwriting 
may be studied through the published Masque, "Shakespeare, the 
Playmaker," and "A Pageant of the North-West," both issued 
under the auspices of the University of North Dakota. Alfred Ar- 
vold has written a pamphlet on "The Little Country Theatre," and 
also has published an address bearing on the subject, dealing with 
"Dynamic Social Forces." Much material may be had on the sub- 
ject of Little Theatres and the modern movement by consulting 
the files of the Play-Book, published by the Wisconsin Dramatic 
Society for a short while under the editorship of Thomas H. Dickin- 
son; by consulting the "Dramatic Index" for the past years under 
the general entry of "Little Theatres" and under specific names, as 
The Portmanteau Theatre, The Neighborhood Playhouse, The 
Washington Square Players, and so on. A suggestive pamphlet cover- 
ing the Little Theatre activities is the 1916 Convention Number 
of the Drama League Monthly. 

The subject of the Portmanteau Theatre has been treated by 
Edward Hale Bierstadt in the preface to a volume of "Portman- 
teau Plays," published by Stewart & Kidd. 



CHAPTER XX 

THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 

There have been many movements on foot to establish a 
dramatic Hbrary in New York and elsewhere — some full 
collection of books to satisfy the intellectual and technical 
demands of the theatrical profession. All social movements 
betoken a social need, and in the present extensive library 
development, no one has bethought himself to make a plea 
for this particular branch of art and literature. Yet the 
need is there, and the opportunity is still awaiting some one 
to make the idea of a dramatic library a fact. 

In isolated moments, when one is vainly searching for 
particular books on costumes, for a special text of a play 
such as "Dora," for some biographical material concerning 
a bygone " star," — when one is looking for such data, then 
it is that, as a vain search is made here, there, and every- 
where, wasting time and energy the while, there is a faint 
yearning for some special library where comfort, accuracy, 
and completeness are housed beneath one roof. 

No one will deny that in the theatrical profession there 
may be found the specialist's pride; and the specialist in 
drama realizes more and more the necessity for preserving 
records, for so systematizing the best that has been thought 
and written in all departments of the theatre, as to give 
the worker immediate authority in whatever investigation 
of a professional character he has occasion to undertake. 

Perhaps the ones who have suffered most in this lack of a 



342 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

dramatic library have been those continuously engaged 
in researches connected with stage history. Undoubtedly, 
those who have indirectly missed quite as much have been 
the people whose attitude towards the theatre is a practical 
one, — the producing manager and his staff, usually com- 
prising an art director, a stage director, and assistants. But 
the ones in the end to be most vitally hurt by this particular 
neglect will be those who are to inherit the traditions of 
theatrical history, traditions which are the common heritage 
of the nation in which they are practiced or formed, even 
though they might not, in their general character, pertain to 
distinct nationality. 

In a narrow, local sense, there are two evident reasons 
why, at present, the time is opportune for urgent cooperation 
in this matter of a dramatic library — a cooperation among 
those most interested in and most intimately responsible 
for the drama's welfare. 

First, we must realize that, even though our own history 
of the stage is scarcely more than a century old, our touch 
with the past is becoming slighter, since the veteran actors — 
the generations that knew Booth and Forrest and Wallack 
and Davenport — are passing away month by month. 
Second, it is most encouraging to note that, with the general 
interest being manifested by the public in the stage, as a 
world of glitter and romance, there is taking place a cor- 
responding increase in the knowledge of those who go to 
the theatre, and who concern themselves with the growth 
and history of the drama itself. 

Behind every urgent need there are to be found the social 
reasons for that need — the facts, for instance, that have 
made some of us aware of the necessity for a definite library, 
dealing adequately with the drama, whatever its phase. 
There are tremendous gaps in the chain of dramatic history 
to be supplied with connecting links — and every death, 



THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 343 

every auction sale, every isolated bequeathment, makes it 
more difficult finally for the connection to be consummated, 
once the proper endowment is secured for the cause. 

In libraries of a general character, there may be many 
books concerning the drama, but they are of miscellaneous 
importance, and are usually selected to satisfy the demands 
of the general reader. It is not indifference which causes 
this condition, but the peculiar function of the special circu- 
lating library which governs the selection. Even a uni- 
versity library cannot discriminate in its courses, as they 
relate to the supply of reference books, and no one should 
grant that it has the right to do so. Therefore, the uni- 
versity does not attempt to keep pace with any other than 
an academic interest in the literature of the drama. Much 
of this current material appears too trivial, indeed, is in- 
tended as nothing more than passing comment, and therefore 
is not worthy of preservation. 

Still, this general attention is not what we are at present 
concerned with. We are seeking to found some centre, to 
suggest some means of appropriation, whereby a dramatic 
library, individualized and functionating alone and apart 
from any general Public Library, yet open to the public, 
may be placed in a position to become the treasure-house for 
all written or printed matters pertaining to the theatre in 
its many and varied aspects. 

Such an institution must not be of trivial or of uncertain 
foundation; there must be a strong promise of perpetuity 
in it before donors will entrust their rarities to its keeping. 
The late Bronson Howard had this thought in mind when, 
after bequeathing his working library to the Dramatists 
Club, of which he was the founder, he added the proviso that 
should the Club, through any unforeseen circumstances, 
cease to exist, the collection — always to be individualized 
as "The Bronson Howard Collection for American Dram- 



344 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

atists" — should be transferred to the Library of Columbia 
University, which should likewise be entitled to the interest 
on five thousand dollars for its further increase. Thus was 
it that Bronson Howard, in another way, added to his 
deserved title of "Dean of the American Drama." 

Now, there is only one unfortunate circumstance attached 
to this gift; the club enriched thereby is a private organi- 
zation, and while, through special privilege, it might be con- 
sulted, there is certain restraint upon its wide usage by 
the public. In the same manner. The Players is loath to 
make its collection accessible in a general way, and only 
by card from a member may one enjoy the privilege of a 
library of books marked more by their associative value 
than by the wise standard of their choice. 

Rare books concerning the theatre are being indiscrim- 
inately sold. To the research worker it seems penny wise 
and pound foolish to wait for the day when some one might 
endow a dramatic library. Every collection gathered by 
a fastidious manager or by an intelligent actor, which is 
placed under the auctioneer's hammer, loosens our hold upon 
volumes of intrinsic value. I speak from actual experience; 
I have seen the gaps, and sensed the consequent necessities. 
And there is no reason why the dramatic profession itself 
should not establish such a foundation fund, and through 
its own initiative see the venture become a permanent fact. 

Collections must be preserved intact, and not share the 
fate of Augustin Daly's books that were scattered to isolated 
bibliophiles and idle curio hunters. By rights, such a library 
should have been saved and perpetuated under the original 
owner's name. It was out of the question for the New 
York Public Library to become the purchaser, for appropri- 
ations would not have allowed such "extravagance." Any 
way, however adequate the New York Public Library, the 
Astor, Lenox, and Tilden collections combined, may be in 



THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 345 

drama, I do not care to see a dramatic library lost amidst 
other collections, and shut off directly from the stream of 
life which should give it greatest energy. 

New York's Public Library, even in its present state of 
dramatic incompleteness, does not quite realize the riches it 
already has, such richness as the Beck collection of plays, nor is 
there an expert — and by that I do not mean a book gatherer 
merely, but a man who knows something specifically about 
drama — who is able to meet you with a specialist's knowl- 
edge, other than that which he hastily gathers from a rather 
inadequate card in the catalogue drawer. 

In fact, as soon as a dramatic library is assured, I should 
like every social institution around it, which has either 
designedly or accidentally become possessor of rare books on 
the theatre in its every phase, to hand these books over to 
the special library. I would rob Peter to pay Paul in this 
respect, provided both were assured children of the public. 
This specializing under such generous conditions is the next 
step in the development of American libraries. But, as far 
as drama is concerned, we are somewhat late. In the future, 
when our increasing interest in the playhouse has turned 
us into a nation of theatre-goers, proud of the institution, 
how many will wonder what has become of the libraries of 
Daly, Palmer, John Brougham, William E. Burton, and 
countless others? 

As an instance of the fate of theatrical books: In the 
Daly collection was Morrell's "Life of George Holland." 
From a slim volume the manager had, with his numerous 
additional pictures, letters, notices, and manuscript notes, 
made two thick books. Joseph Holland, son of the 
comedian, was on the road at the time of the sale, and wired 
his order to New York. But he was too late, and assiduous 
inquiry failed to reveal into whose hands this personal treasure 
actually passed. Had there been a dramatic library, such 



346 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

an historical record would have been preserved from the 
obscurity which now envelops it. 

At one time I had occasion to gather certain facts con- 
cerning Dion Boucicault; his son very graciously assisted 
me from the mass of original material he possesses. It was 
well-nigh impossible, notwithstanding, for our combined 
efforts to frame a concise, accurate bibliography of Bouci- 
cault's plays. This was partly due to the Irish writer's 
prolific pen and to his genius for constructing dramas that 
often never saw the form of whole manuscripts. It was 
equally as much due to the fact that neither of us knew 
exactly where to turn for further investigation. A library, 
properly endowed, and under wise guidance, would have 
facilitated such investigation. 

Another need — and this a vital one. As an investigator, 
where am I to turn to find the farces of Charles Hoyt in 
accessible form, or to study the plays of James A. Heme, 
Steele Mackaye, Henry De Mille, and others? Some of 
these authors are at times represented in that undoubtedly 
serviceable, though ghastly and inaccurate, edition pub- 
lished by French, but often they are not the best of the 
dramas, which later are destined to remain in manuscript. 

With few exceptions, whenever I have applied directly to 
the families possessing the "originals," I have met with un- 
failing courtesy, and with generous interest. But what of 
the future? There should be a dramatic repository for 
original manuscripts, made accessible to the student of 
drama. This lack was a possible reason for Professor Wen- 
delFs ignoring of the American drama in his "Literary 
History of America." Otherwise, we see no excuse for his 
neglect of Howard and Heme and Fitch. If the Dramatists 
Club does not see fit to make it a requirement that a play, 
properly protected, be printed, even as a university requires 
a thesis to be in book form, before granting a degree; if 




Photo, dy Morrison 



Charles Hoyt 



THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 347 

an organization such as the Dunlap Society had to die for 
lack of proper support, — then a typewritten copy of the 
manuscript should be deposited in a recognized place which 
guarantees its protection and assures its perpetuation in 
literary form. There is danger of losing our best specimen 
otherwise. I had but just returned the manuscripts of 
James A. Heme's "Griffith Davenport" and "Margaret 
Fleming," when Mrs. Heme's country home was destroyed 
by fire, and these only copies of the best examples of the 
dramatist's art were irrevocably destroyed. Had a definite 
literary museum for the drama been established, there would 
have been some incentive for the Heme family to have 
established a Heme collection for the enrichment of the 
theatre. Were this policy adopted, it would give keen 
pleasure to see the name of Clyde Fitch attached, in such a 
dignified manner, to the literature of dramatic tradition. 
In fact, nothing more appropriate could be than that a Fitch 
Memorial Collection should be made available, for instance, 
in New York, a city which he so well represented in his plays. 

There is something stingingly true in Burke's utterance, 
put in the mouth of his Rip Van Winkle: " Are we so soon 
forgot when we are gone?" Players are human and die, 
while their sons come into their heritage, possessing all the 
tangible evidences of a recorded tradition in the form of 
manuscripts, letters, and printed data. It is not to be ex- 
pected that they will lend to everyone what records they 
possess, yet it is not too wild a speculation to believe that 
they would willingly donate to a dramatic library what- 
ever books, papers, or personalia they owned which might 
hold some public interest and some future value. 

Of what should a dramatic library consist? It is not so 
simple, as at first might seem, to limit the field, for, more 
than any other art, the drama embraces so much that is 
mere accessory, and calls upon all other arts for aid. But, 



348 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

beginning with a general division, there are three essen- 
tial classifications: Historical, Theoretical, and Practical. 
Neither of these, as an actual fact, is distinct, but the three 
overlap, as all things do in nature. In the first of these 
divisions there should be placed (1) the lives of the players, 
and of all those connected with the stage in any way; (2) 
the stage history of plays; (3) the record of performances 
and the preservation of programs; (4) collections of pic- 
tures and plans, together with (5) the histories of theatres 
as homes for the acted drama. There would likewise be 
made available (6) complete bibliographies of all topics 
likely to be of immediate service to specialists. 

In the second should be gathered books of a critical cast, 
treating (1) of the drama and its evolution, (2) of the plays 
in their construction, (3) of the dramatists and critics in 
relation to their theories and practice, (4) of characters and 
their various interpretations, in such style as is suggested 
in the Variorum Shakespeare, and finally (5) of the drama 
and its place in society. 

In the third division should be gathered (1) every detail 
which bears upon the theatre as a working proposition; 
one should be able to obtain suggestions and historical 
guidance (2) for all designs of costume, and (3) for particular 
furniture or architecture peculiar to any special period. 
There should also be every facility (4) for tracing the entire 
evolution of the mechanism of the stage, such as the prog- 
ress of lighting, which makes for the practical working of 
illusion before the "foots," or without the "foots," as 
Belasco and Gordon Craig desire. 

The Avery Gallery, attached to the library of Columbia 
University, at present is the only satisfactorily equipped 
architectural collection for the technical study of the theatre. 
The books are widely consulted, much to the satisfaction of 
the authorities in charge, who are simply waiting an op- 



THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 349 

portunity to cooperate with the dramatic library, once it 
is securely established in New York. Of course, managers 
have their individual books, but many works are difficult 
to procure, and others are needed only for momentary 
consultation. 

It might take years to establish such an institution as 
we imagine, but now is none too soon to begin. One of the 
cherished hopes of the defunct National Art Theatre Society 
was to found a library of wide scope such as that later at- 
tempted by the Green Room Club of New York City, in 
it to have at hand one of the largest collections of dramatic 
books ever brought together, which would treat of the theatre 
and of the drama in every particular. 

Where in New York City shall the student turn to be 
thus supplied? Wherever it behooves him to wander, he 
is only partly satisfied. If the Public Library has one thing, 
it has not the other, nor is there a systematic effort to keep 
up to date. Even at the present time, to repeat, the Public 
Library has no one in authority who is definitely assigned 
to a department of the drama. If asked why they fail in 
this respect, they will tell you that they are not required to 
specialize in everything. This may be a fair reason, but 
it does not explain their willingness to subdivide in classifi- 
cation, to the smallest fraction, any scientific literature of 
practical and public bearing. 

No library at present contains such an equipment as we 
have in mind. On private walls and in personal albums I 
have come across playbills, brown and seared with age, 
recording a few first productions, but these walls and albums 
are scattered and private. Books on the drama very rapidly 
pass out of print: Tyrone Power's "Reminiscences of the 
30's,'' Hackett's volume about "Falstaff," Sothern's "Birds 
of a Feather," the theatrical experiences of such men as 
Smith, who knew his early South; of Ludlow, who caught 



350 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

the spirit of the early West. Even Dunlap, Ireland, Clapp, 
and so recent an historian as Allston Brown are scarce in their 
editions. This is how the matter stands in America. 

There is the academic side to every library; there is like- 
wise the practical. Unfortunately, as regards the theatre, 
there are too many who are used to reading about it in a 
trivial fashion when, both as an institution and as a pro- 
fession, it has the rights, the possibilities, of the highest art. 
Many attempts have been made by the disappointed play- 
wright to establish a National Theatre; it has been found not 
such an easy task as was at first expected. And so is the 
problem going to be with a dramatic library, for first of all it 
must be remembered that a dramatic library is all-inclu- 
sive on the subject, at the same time that it is a library; that 
it is many-sided in its purpose, however distinctive its name; 
that it has its student side — its evolutionary and revolu- 
tionary phases — as well as its practical side. 

The cry has been heard for many days that the university 
is too theoretical in its study of the stage, having neglected 
the fact that Moliere, Shakespeare, and those of like mag- 
nitude, were primarily practical playwrights. On the other 
hand, in their turn, the university theatre-goers have ap- 
pealed to public taste, have accused those in charge of 
the drama's welfare of being absorbed in the practical to 
the exclusion of the artistic. If it is not already too evident 
to the reader, a dramatic library must be so equipped as 
to balance the theoretical and the practical. Even though 
privately organized, it should be public; or the theatre is 
public, the actor in his professional capacity is public, and 
the drama in every detail has been born of the public. 

When some years ago there was so much talk about a 
National Theatre, many were surprised to find themselves 
at sea about the word national. In no other phase of creative 
art is the inclusive meaning of the term so evident as in the 



THE NEED FOR A DRAMATIC LIBRARY 351 

drama. More than any other form of human expression, 
drama is comparative, for in all countries it has many ele- 
ments in common; being active, it is imitative. There is 
no such thing as an American dramatic library; and we 
are fast coming to recognize that the American drama itself 
is but a branch of English drama — distinctive, simply 
because of local atmosphere and national traits — since 
human passions are the same the world over. Hence, in a dra- 
matic Hbrary, we must consider the drama as an organic 
whole, and that means that the Frenchman, the German, 
the Norwegian, the Spaniard, and the Italian must be satis- 
fied, as well as ourselves. 

The first question for us to ask is not: Where are the books? 
Those will be forthcoming, by subscription and by donation, 
just so soon as the more important questions of endowment 
and organization are decided. There must be no cliques, 
as is so often the case in innovations connected with the 
drama; there must be no petty jealousies. It must be a 
public dramatic library, for actors, managers, and indi- 
viduals would more willingly contribute to such an institu- 
tion, founded upon a broad basis, than give to a single actor, 
manager, or individual, as the heart and soul of a casual 
library movement, lasting perhaps a generation. 



CHAPTER XXI 

THE DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION OF 
THE THEATRE 



The theatre in America is passing through its newspaper 
phase; in every department it is being influenced by those 
economic forces which try to inflate the market without 
improving the product, and which measure the product as 
a commodity rather than as an art. Every industry is 
subject to the laws of profit and loss, and the theatre is an 
ever-increasing industry, since the amusement territory is 
increasing. There is no concentration which would make 
New York the theatrical centre in the way that London is 
the hub of the United Kingdom. 

Only by the combining of theatrical interests in the hands 
of a few dictators has the theatre settled into some orderly 
adjustment, exchanging independence of selection on the 
part of the small manager and of the actor, for certain 
salaried assurance. The theatrical interests have largely 
been held in New York, although Chicago is increasing in 
importance, while the road has accepted what it could get, 
the local manager being only a dependent, with no incentive 
or means to give his public what they want other than what 
the Syndicate might allow them. 

The history of the Theatrical Trust is hardly different from 
the growth of any other trust, save in respect to the person- 
alities of the men behind the combination. The magnates 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 353 

who govern Wall Street know their trade down to the smallest 
detail; they know the men with whom they have to deal, 
and they are quick to measure the risk. The same may be 
said for the theatrical manager. But the extraordinary 
business man exceeds the exceptional theatre man in this 
large respect: he understands the way the country is going; 
he has his hand on the pulse of business conditions at their 
greatest energy; he knows how the people are thinking 
on public affairs. The theatre-manager has no such pene- 
tration; he launches his individual enterprises as a gamble, 
and depends upon the physical resources of theatricalism 
to "boost" his product. 

The history of the men who constitute the Trust is the same 
in each case. Their one claim to serious consideration, 
outside of the sphere of menace to an art, is the fact that, 
having seen an opportunity to place art upon a sound com- 
mercial basis, they combined with sufficient foresight to 
corner the theatrical market. What they were not able to 
observe was that, however sound the commercial basis, art was 
still art, and that, while les affaires sont les affaires, human 
nature is human nature. This fact alone would assuredly 
betray them in the end. 

We have heard much of the commercial theatre, but if 
we stop to think, why should not a theatre be commercial? 
For the play which does not draw is not acceptable to the 
people, and while the box-office should not limit the art, at 
least the art should not hold the box-ofiice in contempt, 
since herein is worldly measure of its own excellence. The 
weak spot in the theatrical situation is not the commercial 
theatre, but the business methods of those behind it; and 
the business methods proclaim the man. 

Judged by all business, large enterprises must be organ- 
ized, and organization is either scrupulous or not scrupulous. 
The men behind the Trust were in it for profits, and having 



354 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

launched enterprises, they had to make these enterprises 
sell. To do this, they found it necessary to control the 
amusement arteries of the country. Thus, audiences either 
had to take the food they found or else go without. This 
blockading system was reached through a booking agency, 
whereby time assignments were distributed for attractions 
at the pleasure of the dictators and on the payment of certain 
fees. Once under operation, this group of men, known as 
the Theatre Trust, or Theatrical Syndicate, practically became 
inquisitorial in its policy, tampering even with the independ- 
ent opinion of the press. 

Now was the time to prove the personality of the men, to 
measure their attitude toward art, to realize their unfitness 
to the full. They found the theatre business precarious, and 
after a fashion they placed the finances on a basis of equilib- 
rium. But in return, the drama had to sacrifice all that 
conduced to the maintenance of its health as an art and as 
a civic force. These men were "in" for the money, and so 
skilful was their generalship that they told the North, South, 
East, and West what they must have, whether they would 
or no. Salaries were assured, but voices were silenced, and 
there was no say in the theatrical worid save that of the 
Trust. 

Then arose an opposition, the chief significance of which 
was that it did oppose. Cut of the same stuff, yet dissatis- 
fied with its stock, this new combination grew because the 
time was ripe, and because there was enough public opinion 
in the air to father its growth. Factions kept coming its way, 
from the South and from the West, while new theatres at 
significant stations in the theatrical territory began to fall 
away from the control of the octopus. Yet, despite the 
disintegration brought about by this condition of affairs, 
we have yet to see whether or not we have on our hands 
more than one octopus. The meaning of this insurgency 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 355 

in the theatre was nevertheless health-giving, or at least 
held promises of renewed hope. For, let it here be said that, 
after all, a manager's business is dependent upon the will of 
the people, however much he may dictate terms. They like 
what they like, and just as soon as they discriminate in 
their liking, the manager's standard will have to change. 
If good plays draw, the theatres will want good plays. 
Whether those at the head have sufficient judgment to know 
a good thing when they see it, is a matter of doubt. But 
the commercial theatre has a perfect right to vend mediocre 
musical comedies, if the people persist in wanting them. 

As far as the Trust is concerned, all this time, art, the 
supreme cause of the theatre, the life expression of the 
people, was languishing beneath an ignorance of its nature. 
Plays were manufactured for particular "stars," and these 
actors, instead of the drama, were featured as the drawing 
attractions. The dramatized novel and musical comedy 
monopolized the boards. Those who were not in the game, 
and those who refused subjection, suffered on the road. Mr. 
Belasco, booking through the Trust, was denied time at St. 
Louis for "The Darling of the Gods" during the Exposition, 
while the opposition rushed its own " The Japanese Nightin- 
gale" into the breach. Mrs. Fiske, unwilling to come to 
terms, had to act in music halls and second-rate houses, 
while Mme. Bernhardt carried with her a stage and a circus 
tent. In the Southern circuit, the small manager was prac- 
tically nothing more than a janitor, who received no con- 
cessions and who could adopt no house policy. The 
situation was chaotic. Actors like Richard Mansfield and 
Francis Wilson, who had been among the first to oppose 
strenuously the dictatorial policy, had, one by one, to come 
to terms. 

Through publicity, ground was prepared for the oppo- 
sition. The *'open door " cry was an excellent slogan, and one 



356 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

in accord with popular sentiment. An independent policy 
was nothing more nor less than the right for any manager, 
irrespective of whether or not he was a member of a trust, 
to "book" his attraction in any town possessing an inde- 
pendent theatre. This free trade even admitted of the op- 
position party asking for "time" in its rival's houses. For 
a while, this will have the appearance of healthy compe- 
tition, but as events are transpiring, there is every reason 
to believe that the two will coalesce, and become more 
powerful than ever. 

Meanwhile, nevertheless, the theatre has been affected 
by changing conditions, mental and economic. The drama, 
as a subject of popular consideration, is being more sanely 
discussed, and the type of play, closely in touch with the 
newspaper, reflects a different order of interests. Public 
agitation against old methods of management has made 
opportune another slogan about an endowed theatre, a 
civic playhouse, a memorial auditorium, wherein might be 
perpetuated the real classics of dramatic art — away from 
the blighting touch of commercialism. But even here, the 
popular conception is wrong. Endowment on any basis 
whatsoever does not permit the manager to disregard 
popular demand; it only allows a certain margin of risk 
and does not require an immediate return on the investment. 
It does not say, "Lose"; but it assures the manager sup- 
port where there has been failure in a judicious cause. 

The one danger of independence, in the commercial sense, 
lies in the sudden appearance of numberless mushroom 
managers. Though we do not see it plainly at present, the 
actor will eventually find that salaries will decrease, and 
demands on his part will fail to possess their former value. 
There will come a general slump in the market of stipend, 
and while this may aid in the establishment of stock com- 
panies, it will not guarantee, as the Trust did, that a company 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 357 

in its circuit through the country will not be left high and 
dry somewhere in the deserts of Arizona. 

In other words, the disintegration of the theatre, in spite 
of the efficacy of free trade, will be attendant with dangers. 
It might degenerate into every playwright being his own 
manager, just as there is an economic possibility of every 
author having to pay for the publication of his own book. 
Charles Klein has affiliated himself in a business way with 
the Author's Producing Company; he prefers to have this 
organization present Charles Klein's play than to have 
announced on the billboards Henry B. Harris's new play 
by Charles Klein (in small type). The " open door" affords 
an ample opportunity for the new playwright to procure a 
hearing; it widens the market, and increases the possibility 
of a production. But it lacks concentrated energy; it is 
wanting in the assurances of stability. 

Nor has the "open door" policy prevented Charles Froh- 
man from cornering the market in English playwrights, as 
certain publishers have cornered certain authors and illus- 
trators for their exclusive use. It is all in the game of busi- 
ness competition. Mr. Frohman, strange to say, now finds 
himself in a peculiar position; he has the plays and he has 
not sufficient theatres in which to present them. The 
Shuberts, by an almost phenomenal ability to procure realty 
support, and by their persistent policy of fighting through 
the medium of a newspaper which they founded for this 
express purpose, have weakened the territorial influence 
of the old Theatrical Trust. In return, they have not suc- 
ceeded in inspiring confidence as to their own intentions. 

This disintegration of the theatre, therefore, points to 
a step which is very evident to those most desirous of honest 
intent. The Syndicate faction assuredly placed the theatre 
on a business basis, as I have indicated ; but they tampered 
>vith the vital organ of the corporation, and becs^me dictg,^ 



358 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

torial in their booking of time, demanding excessive terms 
wherever they wished commercially to make a production 
impracticable in a neighborhood they themselves desired. 
There is now an essential need for a dramatic clearing-house 
which will ensure for the theatre business the same confi- 
dence and the same stability which the New York Clearing- 
House does for the banks. A man's business is his own, 
but when he undertakes to serve as middleman for another, 
then he subjects himself to ethical responsibility. 

Another thing is to be said for the Theatrical Trust, how- 
ever wrong it may have been in its business methods: there 
was an efficiency about its work that was due entirely to the 
experience of its theatre officials. The principle of its book- 
ing system is excellent; its advance agents are keen and alive. 
Nor can there be much fault found with its railroad ar- 
rangements. Only when the theatre began to disintegrate 
did one detect a laxity in management, due very largely 
to the haste with which productions were thrown upon the 
road, and to the calibre of the man sent ahead of the " show." 
However ignorant the officials governing theatrical affairs, 
they were sufficiently wise to bring to their aid cleverness 
from the outside. They took newspaper men as their press- 
agents and paid them large salaries to pursue a course that 
has well-nigh been the undoing of dramatic criticism in this 
country. 

For the one corrective of the theatre is the publicity which 
is given to it in our papers. The theatre-manager assures 
his press representative an authoritative position, from 
which vantage ground he seeks to establish a chain of papers, 
willing to print any news emanating from the theatre office. 
This eagerness to accept "copy" given freely, has been 
largely responsible for the attitude assumed by the manager 
in his demand that dramatic criticism in no way be allowed 
to conflict with the positive effect of his advertising. 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 359 

This struggle is wrong, but it may be easily attributable 
to the unofficial character of the theatre critic's work. The 
papers are not careful in their appointment of well-trained 
men for the position. And we need such men in this period 
of disintegration. It is usually argued, and rightly, that the 
attractions of the "pass" are too great to confine the privi- 
lege to one person; the advantages of advertising are too 
evident to sacrifice them to the whim of one person's idea. 
The press-agent's position is more sharply defined than that 
of the dramatic critic; he is not handicapped; he may go 
the limit, and he does so cleverly. 

Another aspect that has aided in the disintegration of the 
theatre is the character of the outside forces which have 
detracted from the resources of the legitimate theatre. 
First, the vaudeville houses have organized themselves into 
a Trust as potent as that of the straight houses; second, 
the moving-picture interests have combined so thoroughly 
as to threaten theatre business on the road; and finally, 
so many theatres are being erected in the large cities, notably 
in New York, that they cannot be guaranteed sufficient sup- 
port by the assurance of adequate demand or of worthy 
supply. In other words, the economics of the theatre, having 
passed through the stage of experimentation and organi- 
zation, need to be studied with wisdom and forethought. 

I cannot see where the " open door " policy is productive of 
large and wholesome results, per se. It is, of course, more 
honest by far to have all doors open than to work in the 
dark and with a cut-throat policy at hand. But there still 
remains the problem of personality, of manhood, in the 
theatrical business. The situation is quite similar to that 
of politics: a better class of men must be drawn into the 
business, even as they must be drawn into the civic life of 
the people. It is not enough that we have an organization; 
each man must be of the highest quality. It is not enough 



360 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

that plays be produced in order to fill the increasing number 
of theatres; the producer must be instinct with art. The 
Theatrical Trust gave us an excellent shell; the soul has yet 
to be supplied. 

The disintegration of the theatre has shown us the im- 
minent dangers of theatrical organization. There are two 
phases of the business: the ledger side and the art side. 
These should be separate in working process, and the former 
should not limit the latter, even though art should have 
regard for the box-oflfice. The crying need of the theatre 
at present is for a dramatic clearing-house, and for a different 
quality of art which flourishes upon a different spirit of 
organization. The outward form will be very much the 
same as it is now. We shall see that the theatre is disinte- 
grating in order that it may be more closely and more soundly 
organized in the light of its excellences and of its failings. 



II 

I believe that the theatre has much to contend with in the 
increasing disillusionment of its audiences. A large asset 
in the appreciation of a play consists in a naive acceptance 
of its papier mache and of its convention. There was a time 
when this was very real to all of us, when we did not care 
whether thunder came from a tin sheet or the patter of rain 
from the rattle of peas in a pan. The press-agent has at last 
waked himself up to his great sin of commission : that in his 
publicity work he has opened the doors of wonder too wide, 
and has shown the miracle in shirt-sleeves. In the regener- 
ation of the drama, one of the first things will be to bring 
back the old-fashioned curiosity of audiences. 

This will mean that the keen virtue of imagination will 
have to be cultivated. When we criticise the paucity of the 
Elizabethan stage with its paper signs, or of the mystery- 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 361 

play platform with its bowl of water for the sea, we discount 
the responsiveness of an audience, whose education may 
not have been as general as ours, but whose minds were 
more active and more sensitive to mere suggestion. So 
rapidly has illusion deserted us, and so surprisingly have 
the mechanical excellences of the theatre increased that, in 
order to retain the shadow of "make-believe," audiences 
demand settings which materially decrease the manager's 
chances for large profits. 

Such expenditure is warranted in spectacular pieces like 
"Ben-Hur" and "The Shepherd King," where the plays 
themselves had attractive appeal. But scenery can no 
longer prop a weak drama, for the simple reason that the 
jjeople are at last beginning to know something of the art 
of the theatre. To a certain degree, the press-agent has 
been responsible for this. Not that his journalism has lost 
any of its advertising quality, but he is becoming more 
judicious in his statements, and more sparing of his credu- 
lous stories. There has even been a change, within recent 
years, as regards the wild hero-worship which traveled in 
the wake of the "star" system — a hero-worship largely 
fed by the bits of stage gossip furnished from the press 
department of every manager's office. 

This condition is improving. Though the press-agent is 
still primarily an advertiser for his "show," he is smart 
enough to understand that his audience is manifesting in- 
terest in the technique of the theatre. The education which 
is thus taking place is somewhat due to the yearly publica- 
tion of popular books on the drama by men who have knowl- 
edge, yet are gifted with an unscholastic style. While these 
volumes expound no new principles, they at least fa- 
miliarize the public with those fundamental characteristics 
which combine to make an excellent play. The critique - 
thus gathered together in no way boast of the literal y 



362 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

distinction of the work of Hazlitt, Lamb, or Lewes; but in 
their journalistic stricture, they do accustom theatre-goers 
to question technique in drama as they would demand 
balance in art. What is now needed in our criticism is a 
more rigid scrutiny of our right to enjoy certain amusements, 
and a more minute examination of the methods of the actor 
as a creative artist. 

In other words, — indirectly through the better class press- 
agent; directly through the conscientious critic; and partly 
through the publication of plays, — the theatre is receiving 
an intellectual training which the commercial manager 
already finds himself bound to recognize. Audiences are 
becoming technicians, despite the old cry of the tired busi- 
ness man. 

The unrest which marks general theatrical interests, and 
the dearth of plays which strains the manager's ingenuity, 
are sufficient indication that no "open door" policy will 
bring immediate relief, even though it give the unheard 
playwright a hearing and a chance. The New Theatre in 
its first year examined two thousand manuscripts for prob- 
ably six acceptances. We are all writing plays, but they 
have the demerits of imitation, and lack the strength of the 
soil. The one school which we have in the drama is in the 
observation of American conditions — especially as they 
apply to business affairs. Once there was opportunity to 
do big work in the aspects of rural life, but even James A. 
Heme was touched by a fast declining melodrama which 
soon went out of date, even as the sentiment peculiar to it 
disappeared, despite its splendid odor of rosemary. 

In the regeneration of the theatre, therefore, the play- 
wright is growing to recognize that his own citizenship 
means something in the conception of his drama; that the 
one original opportunity of the outward drama, apart from 
the spiritual essence of it, lies in the locality of which Howells, 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 363 

Bret Harte, Octave Thanet, Page, and Cable have made so 
much in literature. The scenic idea has created a seeable 
American drama, but hardly a readable one or a preservable 
one. "Salomy Jane/' "The Girl of the Golden West," "In 
Old Kentucky," " Way Down East," " Sag Harbor," and such 
titles occur to everyone; in fact, it is not too rash to state 
that the theatre, topographically, has very well considered 
the local differences of the country. But as yet the activity of 
dramatic authorship has also become too diffuse — a char- 
acteristic of newspaper training, and showing a want of set 
purpose other than to write something for the theatre which 
affords large returns upon the right thing. 

Yet the widespread interest, as I see it, will mean that a 
man properly accustomed to exact technique, and well- 
trained in the professional and in the cultural phases of his 
trade, will at last experiment in drawing from the soil matter 
which is the essence of national life. This consciousness 
of the matter at hand is not cultivated by artificial means, 
but comes through necessity from within, through big con- 
viction, through personal belief, through consuming interest 
in this condition and in that type. It is not a mere observa- 
tional, reportorial drama, such as we have in "The Lion 
and the Mouse," or in "The Gamblers." Not one of our 
American dramatists can thus far boast of challenging public 
thought or of rousing public interest, other than that of fic- 
titious excitement. 

Our theatre needs a body of ideas; it needs to reflect in 
better ways the undercurrent of American life. It lags be- 
hind the newspaper instead of leaping forward and making 
the newspaper keep up with it in civic pride and in common 
honesty. If we are given poetic drama, it has the scholastic 
idea that "Marlowe" and "Sappho and Phaon" are better 
than "Hiawatha" and an epic of wheat, of hemp, or 
of the New England conscience. If the play is social, it 



364 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

simply dramatizes the newspapers, busying itself about the 
outward movement of life. The playwright knows that he is 
sure of sympathy from audiences whenever he places the 
warmth of American character in contrast with the artificiality 
of foreign social intrigue; hence the popularity of Booth 
Tarkington's "The Man from Home," and "The Gentleman 
from Indiana." He knows that a certain representation of 
the stress and strain of Wall Street will rouse curiosity; hence 
"The Pit." But he is too prone to lose sight of the ethics 
of business in the noise of "buncoism;" hence "The Gam- 
blers" and "Get-rich-quick Wallingford." That is the usual 
inclination of the reporter after a story. 

The lure of large profits has been responsible to a marked 
degree for the general weakness of our native drama. Writers 
without technique in this special field have identified the 
narrative conversation of fiction with the vital dialogue 
of the stage, not realizing that the structure in each is dif- 
ferent. Yet one cannot help believing that the interest of the 
literary man in the theatre will affect the intellectual char- 
acter of its future. 

But the literary man is not a frequent theatre-goer; 
whenever he is detected in numbers in the auditorium, it is 
safe to reckon that he has been brought there by a promise, 
not of drama in the theatrical sense, but of ideas in the 
literary sense. If he likes the ideas, but finds that critically 
the drama fails to be drama, he condemns the theatre and 
hastens outside to deplore the decadence of the stage. 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich never could realize why " Judith of 
Bethulia" did not prove acceptable; he attributed it to the 
uncultivation of the theatre-going public, rather than to his 
own failure to meet some of the essential requirements of 
drama. Percy Mackaye, understanding the theory of stage- 
craft, persists in clogging his dialogue with sentiments and 
allusions wholly unsuited to quick-moving minds. 



DISINTEGRATION AND REGENERATION 365 

Since this is the hterary condition of the drama, it is safe 
to count the Hterary clientele as a body in itself dedicated 
to the improvement of the theatre according to wrong 
methods. In fact, since the Puritan first lodged his diatribe 
against actor folk, there has been a persistent cry for the 
improvement of the stage. Societies for dramatic betterment 
have risen upon their own hopes and fallen because of their 
own mistakes. Conditions are altered, not by dilettanteism, 
but by whole knowledge and sound conviction. Audiences 
may organize for the encouragement of particular plays, 
but the big public outside of cliques will have its say, and 
will register its decisions at the box-office. I have seen 
committees of various organizations at the theatre, sent to 
report on the relative merits of a play. I have seen the 
reports: trite, commonplace, sweepingly impertinent in 
approval or disapproval. The theatre is not harmed by 
such a show of false culture, and there is some humor in the 
fact that, though the drama is little influenced by such osten- 
tatious intellectuality, the cliques themselves are at least 
being made to take themselves and the drama seriously. 
Undoubtedly they would have much more pleasure if they 
were able, which they are not, to join the vulgar crowd in 
its enjoyment. By their superiority, they are violating the 
very essential spirit of the theatre. 

Yet I do not wish to convey the idea that I want this 
connection between literature and the theatre to be so close 
as to hinder the theatre. Drama is no handmaiden to lit- 
erature; it is the highest type of literary expression and the 
most difficult in which to excel. The disintegration of the 
theatre, as we have examined it, indicates clearly that the 
methods of the Trust have not kept the good play from its 
rightful public, for since the talk of the "open door," we 
have had no startling discoveries in the way of exceptional 
productions. The process of reorganization shows that in- 



366 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

tellectual improvement must be coincident with the higher 
and more honest standard of presentation. For when we 
speak of social and economic forces in the theatre, we speak 
of the drama as a commodity and as an art. 



CHAPTER XXII 
l'envoie 



Present-day dramatic criticism in America is not an art, 
but a pastime; one does not have to be specially trained 
for the position, but more generally assigned to the position, 
which is but another way of claiming that a play is more 
likely to be reported than to be reviewed. 

There are legitimate reasons for such a status, reasons 
incontrovertible without a change in theatre management 
on one hand and in journalistic policy on the other. As 
matters now stand, there is not a financial editor who does 
not believe himself as well equipped to render a decision 
upon a play as the average theatre reporter — and no doubt 
he is right. The want of authority, other than that attached 
to the privilege of the "pass," makes of the general profes- 
sional theatre-goer, who writes a column the morning after, 
a figurehead no less than a deadhead. And it is just this 
lack of understanding as to what his province really is that 
threatens to jeopardize the position of the dramatic critic, 
in view of the essential necessity of the press-agent to the 
theatre as a business. At the present moment, we are 
witnessing an interesting struggle for the survival of the 
fittest; the press-agent of necessity is required to systematize 
his business; the dramatic critic, save in isolated cases^ 
is not allowed to declare his policy. 

The diversity of opinion that we find in the morning paper 



368 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

after a "first night" is more likely due to an unpreparedness, 
a lack of critical viewpoint, than to any fundamental logical 
difference. And it is the lightness with which the decision 
is rendered that shakes the confidence of the reading public. 
The dramatic critic rarely speaks with authority; if he does, 
he is in danger of hurting business. There is no question 
as to whether the view of the theatre taken by the city 
editor, simply as a field for possible sensational news, does 
not detract from the dignity of the critic's own department. 
The city editor's stand and the critic's stand are both legiti- 
mate, yet they are far from being the same — or else, they 
should not be. 

The dramatic critic is not regarded as a necessity; he 
is generally a sufferance. It is more often the case that the 
editor looks askance at the prospect of engaging a man 
who must, so the inference runs, be possessor of a jaded 
intellect in view of his long service in the theatre. The 
drama is the only art where, to-day, it is not a requisite to 
have training and experience to render a decision; where 
expert opinion is discounted in the face of the reporter and 
the press-agent. After all, says the average theatre-goer 
to the critic, it is your opinion vs. mine. You report that 
a play is bad; you do not establish the fact by any formula- 
tion of your opinion; my judgment is as likely to be as 
authoritative. Because there is a large element of truth in 
what he says, dramatic criticism is being threatened. 

The requirements of journalism are more favorable to 
the reporter and to the press-agent than to the critic, for 
the simple reason that the theatre news reinforces the ad- 
vantages of advertising. Those "official critics" who have 
attempted to summarize a week's theatre activity in a 
column or two of the Sunday edition have either underesti- 
mated the mental capacity of their readers, or else have 
failed, except in a very few cases, to understand that criticism. 



L^ENVOIE 369 

as Walkley has declared, is not a parasitic art alone, but a 
creative one as well — creative of an original outlook pro- 
voked by the exigencies of the occasion, but more naturally 
by the force of sound conviction. James Huneker is a 
representative of the right type, but he is no longer a 
dramatic critic of the conventional order; he is "off duty 
forever " in the journalistic sense. 

Every man, in his way, is a critic; he measures the capac- 
ity of art by his own capacity to enjoy art. Hence, there 
are among us some few who can span the arches of a master- 
piece, and those there are who are good authorities on vaude- 
ville ! But they are not equipped as they should be with the 
complete understanding that assures one the third dimension 
and gives one glimmering hope of a possible fourth. There 
are critical processes which do not come within the calcula- 
tions of the public, but which belong distinctively to the critic 
— identification and detachment, characterized by Le Bon 
as the psychology of the individual and of the crowd — 
the proper relation of comparative values — the correct 
and familiar uses of the factors in technique — the unerring 
appreciation of the creative forces behind art. 

Viewed in this light, the work of the dramatic critic Is 
no minor task; in its way dependent upon a product out- 
side of itself, it is at once a dictum and an outlook; it is 
restrictive of a form and expressive of an idea; it is no sine- 
cure, but a responsibility. 

It is difficult to imagine appreciation as an exact science, 
even though there are recognized standards in drama, as 
there are in other art species, to allow of Matthew Arnold's 
definition of criticism. But it is preposterous to claim that 
the critic is so callous to emotional response as to be coolly 
conscious of a wilful juxtaposition of the experiment with 
the norm. He must be a keen and sympathetic observer 
of all that constitutes life, to recognize how perfectly or how 



370 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

badly the artist has re-presented Hfe by means of its most 
progressive, yet unconsecutive, moments. To him the 
playhouse, in its threefold capacity of business, institution, 
and art museum, becomes one of the civic centres for deep- 
est realization of self-expression. He is to take his orchestra 
chair with a sense that though a scholar — that is, a workman 
with his tools by right — he is not a scholastic; that, though 
writing for the morrow, he is framing opinion beyond the 
morrow; that, though analyzing what he himself might 
not be able to do as well, he is doing ably what his experience 
has made as second nature to him. He sees unerringly and 
his mind is clear. He knows what good art is and he questions 
the presence of bad art. 

This is perhaps theoretical and ideal, yet had we gone to 
the theatre with Aristotle, our classic figure of a critic, we 
would have been taken behind the simulation of nature into 
a discussion of the very nature principles themselves. The 
Greeks, as dramatic critics, were a little contemptuous of 
this reflex life we call drama. In fact, run your memory 
along the evolution of criticism as applied to the ancient 
playhouse, and you will find that the attitude is largely 
philosophical, and wholly ruled out of the present province 
of the dramatic critic. In other words, with the modern 
recognition of the theatre as a live activity in the civic body, 
drama has peculiarly become severed from literature, o^ 
which it is a legitimate and significant part. 

Here, then, is one of the first steps in the rehabilitation 
of the dramatic critic: to realize that, however journalistic 
his career, he stands primarily for the dramatic spirit and 
secondarily for the theatrical fact. He must claim for the 
theatre its literary dignity — which will place bits of the 
striking realism of Heme by the side of a similar realism 
in Howells. It is peculiar how closely to the fundamental 
philosophy of the dramatic both Mr. Howells and Mr. James 



L'ENVOIE 371 

stand, without possessing that burning sense of the theatre 
which should be an asset to the theatre critic. This is no 
doubt due to the Umitation of the novehst, whose technique 
is different from that of the dramatist, a fact he does not half 
realize until failure on the boards drives it home. 

The critic, therefore, is doubly sensitized: he is a lover 
of art and a lover of life; he is to keep them separate and 
yet view them conjointly, even as he measures his individual 
impression, his estimate of the crowd from without its circle 
of appreciation, and his impression as a unit in that crowd. 
His decisions are not had by text-book definitions; they are 
realized by right of his possession. Of what? That by virtue 
of which I am I, meaning the public — and he the critic. Your 
opinion vs. mine! Are the conditions such as to warrant 
my challenging the critical authority in the theatre? 

We value what Henry Arthur Jones writes of the play- 
house, not so much because he is invigorating, as because he 
is sane and progressive in the face of his national limitations. 
Nevertheless, it is unwise for a dramatist to place himself 
in the position of a critic, to furnish the weapons by which 
later he is almost invariably wounded. Percy Mackaye 
has written a book measuring democratic tendencies in the 
present-day theatre. But it is for the critic to tell us what 
the drama of democracy is to be; the dramatist is to give 
us the type if he can. It is for the critic to analyze wherein 
the poetic and commonplace may be blended on our stage; 
the dramatist is to blend the qualities. The critical faculty 
is always ahead of creative activity, but our dramatic 
reporter seems to be almost slavishly dependent upon the 
product; he deals with the neiv play and does not attempt 
to go behind or beyond it. 

In his prefaces and in his dramatic opinions, Shaw reveals 
a rare discrimination and a delicious wit; his essays are 
literature by the sheer force of his personality rather than 



372 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

because of the vital substance of the individual plays. This 
is the reason Jones as a critic is of more sound importance, 
in that he reflects tendencies, movements, national feelings, 
rather than himself. The dominant personality of Shaw 
is not the critical faculty, nor would the critic be allowed 
his liberties. We accept his "Quintessence of Ibsenism" 
because not everyone can discard Ibsen so impertineiitly 
and give us instead the "Quintessence of Shaw." But he 
is a good handbook for critics; sometimes we question 
whether his critical bravery is not wholly dependent upon 
Irish wit. 

Place Shaw's book by the side of Walter Eaton's volumes 
of American reviews culled from the New York Sun and 
other papers: the one is brilliant, the other is excellent and 
clever, marred on the one hand by a journalistic intimacy of 
style and colloquial jargon, and on the other by a staid New 
England moral reticence which we applaud, despite its un- 
progressiveness. Yet both Shaw and Eaton exhibit in their 
books the underlying weakness of the dramatic critic's claim 
to literary permanence. They are dealing with transitory 
stuff; their critical sermons are founded upon theatrical 
quicksand; they outline the plots of plays that die within 
a twelvemonth. 

Therefore, the dramatic critic, by nature of his transitory 
material, has somehow had thrust upon him the reporter's 
immediate expression. But the demand of journalism has 
perverted the function of dramatic criticism as it has the 
scope of literary criticism. Among our newspaper editors, 
Paul Elmer More alone has the opportunity of expressing 
himself fully in the columns of the New York Evening Post 
and Nation, using the essay form. But the dramatic critic 
who, in the discussion of an inferior comedy or a mediocre 
farce, should brush it aside lightly in his desire to pay tribute 
to the excellence of Charles Hoyt, would not only be com- 



L'ENVOIE 373 

mitting a breach against reportorial timeliness, but would 
be committing a breach of courtesy against the advertising 
column. The fact of the matter is that true dramatic 
criticism will flourish only after journalism recognizes its 
essential authority. 

The critic and the press-agent are not antagonistic factors 
in the theatre scheme; the struggle that is taking place is 
due entirely to the fact that the manager requires expert 
system and the editor is not over-anxious for expert decision. 
Through excellent systematization, I have heard a press- 
agent claim that within twenty-four hours he could com- 
mand the columns of a chain of papers stretching from 
coast to coast; he did not mean that he could, or would, 
limit the expression of the critic on any of these papers, but 
that he could send to these papers sufficiently attractive 
"dramatic stories" to warrant their being used as "copy." 
The press-agent is generally a trained newspaper man; if 
he be a wise man, he will keep within the limit of credulity; 
but his essential business is to create interest in his particu- 
lar "attraction." In our Sunday papers we have seen the 
discussion of the race problem, and we feel assured that the 
press-agent for ZangwilFs "The Melting Pot" has done some 
intelligent free advertising. He has, prompted by keen* 
instinct, killed two birds with one stone; he has appealed 
to the city editor's desire for bright, live "copy"; he has 
sounded the fundamental note of his play. 

The common expression we hear is : " Oh, that 's a press 
story. " But the agent who courts false sensationalism, who 
circulates personalities that are off color, who miscalculates 
the intelligence of the newspaper man, is not typical of his 
class. The press-agent to-day is a man of concentrated energy, 
with a ready pen and a quick judgment. He must keep faith 
with his manager and with the editor. He must not try to 
make the reporter believe that there is good fishing in the 



374 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

Hippodrome tank, yet such a wild story is good advertising, 
if used properly. 

A most prominent press-agent has written to me of his 
calling; his words, uttered with authority, are representative 
of his profession. He says: 

"The agent, having 'held down the dramatic desk' him- 
self, understands the honor, pride, and traditions of the 
position, and is not likely to ask absurdities or impossibilities. 
. . . The old-time agent — the man with the high hat, 
lightning-rod shirt, diamond headlight, and the general 
make-up of an interlocutor in a minstrel * first part,' . . . 
but who cannot write two consecutive grammatical sen- 
tences, has passed away. Such a one now would be worse 
than useless, except possibly in the smaller one-night towns 
where glitter and imposing appearance awe the natives. . . . 
It is the man with ideas who can write — he it is jivho suc- 
ceeds as an agent in the city or on the road to-day — the 
quiet, energetic, thinking man who studies the style, re- 
quirements and policy of each paper, . . . who gives to the 
critic salient data about plays and players, . . . and who 
leaves the critic entirely alone when the latter is to write 
his opinion of the performance." 

This is a concise statement of the press-agent's province; 
he aids the theatre advertising; he is at the service of the 
theatre reporter. He has done his work so excellently that 
the manager has come to believe that no statement should 
be printed in a paper, sufficiently strong to counteract the 
good work of the press-agent on the one hand, or the force 
of his paid advertising on the other. We have known in the 
course of theatre history instances where dramatic critics 
have been removed because they have spoken out fearlessly; 
we have been told of other instances where managers have 
gone to the editor with the demand that the critic be re- 
moved, a demand reinforced by the threat of withdrawing 



L'ENVOIE 375 

newspaper patronage. Is there a critic to-day worth the 
sacrifice in advertising of thousands of dollars? Yet the 
present state of dramatic criticism is due to a lack of moral 
support on the part of journalism. 

We need a thorough rehabilitation of this profession; 
until that time arrives, we are safe in pursuing the policy 
of your opinion vs. mine. It is the drama itself that is 
suffering from the lack of dramatic criticism, not the public. 
Our reporters are toying with a serious art; they are ex- 
ploiting and not attempting to create. But there is no deny- 
ing that the dramatic critic who now lacks full preparation, 
who is not given authority, who does not probe further 
than he sees, will remain the reporter until he is liberally 
prepared, is clothed in authority of expression, and is afforded 
the proper medium for full creative criticism; until he is 
backed by his editor. 

II 

A dramatic critic's position is not an easy one, and he is 
only on the safe road when he separates the personal from 
the impersonal. For his opinion of a product should in no 
way affect his opinion of the man whom he criticizes. It is 
a difficult problem to be critical, at the same time realizing 
that the personality of the man was far greater than his art 
accomplishment. In the preceding pages, strictures have 
been made against friends, but honesty of purpose justifies 
the statements. Not many authors have the bigness to 
take criticism at its face value, no matter from what source, 
and to measure its sincerity. In the working out of this 
book, however, I have been met with remarkable examples 
of simple faith and cultured com-tesy. I look back upon 
my association with Mr. Howard and Mr. Fitch, and realize 
that though we sometimes disagreed critically, these men 
felt it worth while to clear up their opinions or mine. I 



376 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

remember the serious intensity of Mr. Mackaye, who might 
not agree with me as to the province of the drama in a 
democracy, but who, nevertheless, accepted my opinion 
as coming with no other object than to sound the truth. 

But as soon as a dramatic critic appears between covers 
in an avowed survey of American drama, he then is chal- 
lenged on all hands. Some say. Does he not realize that in 
Louisiana at one time there flourished a Creole drama which 
was not only written, but was acted in a definite French 
theatre? And the answer comes: Yes, Alcee Fortier has 
suggested a rich field for the research worker, but though 
here was a hybrid type on American soil, it had little to do 
with American drama as we have defined it, even though it 
might have been inspired by American incident. The mere 
fact of the foreign language would rule it from our consider- 
ation. 

Others say, Why has he so persistently ignored the women 
dramatists? And there is only one reply for that. After 
one has measured the excellence of Marguerite Merrington's 
"Captain Letterblair" (1892), and the varied products by 
Martha Morton, Grace Livingston Furniss, Rida Johnson 
Young, Margaret Mayo, and Genevieve Haines, there is 
little to say individually except that the cleverness of dia- 
logue and situation show women to be factors in the theatre 
of to-day. There is only one of them who has established 
a style and an attitude. I mean Rachel Crothers, whose 
"The Three of Us" and "A Man's World" display active 
reasoning. 1 

In other words, contemporary drama in America is plentiful, 
but only after it survives the newspaper critic and the public 
should it be reckoned in its relation to the body dramaturgic 

» Mrs. Fiske has written several effective playlets, among them 
the following: "The Rose," "The Eyes of the Heart," and "A 
Light from St. Agnes." 



Photo, by Otto Sarony Co. 



Rupert Hughes 



L'ENVOIE 377 

as a whole. Eugene Walter's "The Easiest Way" shows 
excellent technique and poignant handling, but it is, after 
all, only a bit of reportorial realism which he has not so far 
surpassed. At present he does not even justify the state- 
ment that he is a man of one lasting play, as Moody may 
claim to be in " The Great Divide." In a period when nearly 
every one inspired to write is writing plays, it were futile 
to give separate consideration to dramas which may draw 
but which in noway strengthen the dramatic idea in America. 
There are numberless men who may be grouped in the class 
of newspaper paragraphers; they have given amusement 
of various sorts to crowded houses, but they have stood for 
little more than this popular amusement. Richard Harding 
Davis belongs to this class; so do Edwin Milton Royle, 
Channing Pollock, Rupert Hughes, Paul Armstrong, Willis 
Steele, Henry Blossom, WiUiam CoUier, and CM. S. 
McClellan. An historical survey is never contemporary, 
and the fairest way for a critic to approach the theatre is 
from the standpoint of dominant personalities and general 
tendencies.^ 

Playwriting is lucrative, but these men and women know 
that it flourishes upon disappointment, upon the power of 
taking infinite pains. It has its many forms, but in each 
the essential theatrical requirement is construction, and it is 
this which proves the stumbling block to so many aspirants. 
But there is the equally important element which, it is to be 
hoped, the foregoing studies have emphasized — the element 
which goes hand in hand with construction — Idea. And 
all these minor playwrights, minor in attitude if not in ac- 
complishment, have awakened within the past decade to the 
fact that the American dramatist will find that Idea in the 

* For contemporary records, the student is referred to The 
Theatre Magazine, under the excellent editorial supervision of 
Arthur Hornblow. 



378 THE AMERICAN DRAMATIST 

hopes and passions, the struggles, defeats, and victories 
which constitute American Hfe. That is the forceful fact 
which will persist after any consideration of the American 
dramatist, from whatever viewpoint he may be regarded. 
And the duty of the dramatic critic is to abet any sincere 
effort that holds life and truth above glory and gain. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY OF THE AMERICAN 
DRAMATIST 



[Not much permanent writing has been done on the subject of the American 
drama. Outside of biographies and general theatrical records, opinions concerning 
playwrights and theatre conditions are to be fovmd only in magazines. Hence, the 
student has to resort to the cumulative indexes. The following references are of 
value simply as a means of affording some starting-point for further investigation. 
Titles marked * are books. See Bibliography in the present author's " Famous 
Actor-Families in America."] 

*Adams, William Davenport. A Dictionary of the Drama. 1904. 
Ade, George. 

Father and the Boys. Excerpts. Current Literature, 45 : 316-24. 
His Work. Book Buyer, 19:254, 1899. 
How George Did It. Book Buyer, 25: 316. 
Story of his Work. Munsey, 29 : 465-66. 
Work of. W. D. Howells. North American, 176:739-43. 
American on the Stage, The. J. B. Matthews. Scribner, 28:321. 
♦American Plays and Poetry in the Collection of C. F. Harris. 

Providence, 1874. 
Amusing People. Coney Island. Frederick W. Thompson. Metro- 

politan Magazine, 32:601-10. 
Audiences, Theatre, Psychology of. C. Hamilton. Forum, 39:234- 

48. 
Beck Collection of Prompt Books in the New York Public Library. 

Bulletin, F., '06, pp. 100-48. 
Belasco, David. 

Advice to the Giri with Dramatic Ambitions. Woman's Home 

Companion, 31:7. 
Drama, Opinions on the. Current Literature, 23: 248. 
Dramatic Schools. Cosmopolitan, 35 : 359-68. 
Man, The, and his Work. H. A. Harris. Cosmopolitan, 47: 

755-64. 
Presentation of the National Drama. Harper's Weekly, 48: 

1844-45. 
Theatrical Syndicate. Cosmopolitan, 38: 193-98. 



380 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

*Bibliography, Dramatists. 

Bulletin of Bibliography, No. 18. 38 pp. Boston Book Company, 

1907. 

*Blake. Historical Account of the Providence Stage. [See also 

"History of the Providence Stage, 1762-1891." George O. 

Willard. 1891.] 

*Boston Theatre, History of the. E. Tompkins and Q. Kilby. 

Houghton, 1908. 
♦Boston, The Drama in. WiUiam W. Clapp. Vol. IV., Chap. V, 
in "The Memorial History of Boston." Edited by Justin 
Winsor. [See files of Boston playbills in the Boston Public 
Library.] 
Boucicault, Dion, Rip van Winkle. J. L. Ford. Munsey, 35: 72. 
[For Bibliography on B., see "Famous Actor-FamiHes in 
America."] 
Broadhurst, George H. Man of the Hour. Excerpts. Current Liter- 
ature, 42:541-47. 
Brougham, John. 

*Life, Stories, and Poems. William Winter. Osgood, 1881. 
*Comedians, A Group of. W. L. Keese. Dunlap Society Pub- 
lication, n. 8., 15, 1901. 
*Brown, Charles Brockden, Life of. William Dunlap. 2 vols. 

Philadelphia, 1815. 
Burlesque, Home of the. The Gaiety. R. L. Hartt. Atlantic, 101: 
68-78. 
W. D. Howells. Atlantic, 23: 635-44. 
American. L. Hutton. harper, 81:59-74. 
Founders of. Temple Bar, 29: 318. 
♦Chronology of the American Stage. F. C. Wemyss. 1852. 
*Clapp, H. A. Reminiscences of a Dramatic Critic. Houghton, 

1902. 
*Clapp, J. B., and Edgett, E. F. Plays of the Present. Dunlap 

Society, 1902. 
Closet-Drama. Dial, 44: 163-65. 

Legitimacy of the. J.B.Matthews. North American, IS7:21S- 
23. 
Colleges, Art of Drama in. K. Merrill. Education, 26:419-29. 
Comedy, Modern. J.B.Matthews. Blackwood, 19: 4:Q. 

Modern Tendencies of. C. Wyndham. North American, 149: 

607-15. 
Nature of. Living Age, 248: 378-81. 

Two Thousand Years of. C. S. A. Herford. New England 
Magazine, 53:441. 
Comic Opera, The Dechne of. W. J. Henderson. International 
Quarterly, Jan., 1905. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 381 

♦Covent Garden Theatre, Annals of, from 1732-1897. H. S. Wynd- 

ham. Scribner. 
*Cowell. Thirty Years Among the Players. 
Crothers, Rachel. Troubles of a Playwright. Harper's Bazaar, 

45:4. 
Daly, Augustin. 

American Drama (Daly). North American, 142: 485-92. 

Appreciation of. A. I. Du P. Coleman. Critic, 35: 712-20. 

Catalogue of autograph letters, playbills, etc. 

Catalogue of his books. 

Daly. Donahoe's Magazine, 42:35-41. 

Daly Collection. Charles H. Caffin. Harper's Weekly, 44: 227- 

28. 
Daly Library. Henry Blackwell. Booklover's, 200-3. 
Daly's Stock Company. L. C. Davis. Lippincott, 32: 396. 
Daly Theatre, American School of Dramatic Art. J. R. Towse 

and G. P. Lathrop. Century, 56:261-75. 
Daniel Frohman and: Stock Companies Contrasted. A. 

Brownell. Bostonian, 3:292. 
*Diary of a Daly Debutante. Being Passages from the Journal 

of a Member of the Daly Famous Company of Players. Duf- 

field, 1910. 
Dramatic Dictator. Booklover's, 3:401. 

Group of Rare Lambs. L. R. McCabe. Book Buyer, 20: 33-40. 
His Life Work. Critic, 35:579; Cosmopolitan, 27:405-18, 

G. Kobbe. 
Library of. Athenceum, 1900, 1 : 371-72. 
Modern Stage and. Saturday Review, 79: 860. [See G. B. 

Shaw's ''Dramatic Opinions."] 
Story of the Daly Bible. L. R. McCabe. Catholic World, 70: 

809-20. 
Treasures of the Daly Library. C. Shipman. Critic, 36: 213- 

19. 
[See also pubhshed plays by Daly; cf. his Shakespeare edition 

with the editing of Edwin Forrest.] 
Daly, C. P. When Was the Drama Introduced in America? 1864. 

[Pamphlet.] 
*The First Theatre in America. Dunlap Society Publication, 

n. s., V. 1, 1896. 
Davis, Richard Harding. 

*Farces: The Dictator, The Galloper, etc. Scribner, 1906. 
Playing the Drama. Collier, 42: 14. 
♦Drama, The: Its Laws and its Technique. Elizabeth Woodbridge. 

Allyn and Bacon, 1898. 
♦Study of the. J. B. Matthews. Houghton, 1910. 



382 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

The Drama (Continued) 

*Decline of, Cause of. Dunlap. American Theatre, 1 : 407. 
About Play-Acting. M. Twain. Forum, 26: 143-51. 
Early, in Boston. C. H. Pattee. Bostonian, 2:254:. 
Foreign, on the English and American Stage. No. II. C. 0. 

Ayer. Colorado University Studies, 7: 63-72. 
Future of the. Arthur Bourchier. Nineteenth Century, 62: 441-56. 
Modern, Corner-stones of the. H. A. Jones. Fortnightly, 86: 

1084-94. 
Modern, The. WilUam Archer. McClure, 34: 3-16. 
National, Foundations of a. H. A. Jones. North American, 

186:384-93. 
New, and New Theatre. William Archer. McClure, 34: 3-16. 
of Democracy. P. Mackaye. Columbia University Quarterly, 

10: 173-83. 
of Ideas. N. Hapgood. Contemporary, 74: 712-23. 
of Revolt. H. H, Boyesen. Bookman, 1 : 384. 
of the Moment, and Ibsen's Plays. H. A. Kennedy. Nineteenth 

Century, 30:258-74. 
Plain Talk on the. Richard Mansfield. North American, 155: 

308-14. 
Printed, Plea for the. Current Literature, 41 : 541-42. 
Social, Modern. C. Hamilton. Forum, 40: 265-73. 
U. S. 1881. To-day in America. J. Hatton. 2:1. 
Drama, American. [See Cumulative Indexes.] 

*Two volumes. In the Victorian Edition of "The Drama." 

[Edited by Alfred Bates. PubUshed by Smart and Stanley.] 

See Vols. XIX, XX. 
A. Daly. North American, 142:485-92. 
H. Garland. Literary World (Boston), 20: 307. 
L. Hutton. Lippincott,S7 :2S9. 
I. A. Pyle. Lippincott, QQ: 131. 

and the American Library. P. Wilstach. Bookman, 8: 134. 
Beginnings of. P. L. Ford. New England Magazine, n. s., 9: 

673-87. 
Beginnings of, in America. R. Davey. National, 19: 802. 
Beginning of the, in America. O. Wegehn. Literary Collector j 

9:177-81. 
Characteristics of. A. Hennequin. Arena, 1 : 700. 
Dawn of. J. Corbin. Atlantic, 99:632-44. 
Early. F. S. Gay. Nation, 88: 136. 
Early. W. J. Neidig. N atio7i, S8:8^S8. 
Future. D. Boucicault. Arena, 2:641. 
Kicking out the Great. By a Professional Play-reader. Mun- 

sey, 41 : 844-49. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 383 

American Drama {Continued) 

Poetic. L. C. Willcox. North American, 186:91-97. 
Revisited. William Archer. Independent, Q2: 1519-25. ' 
Drama in America. 

American Quarterly, 1: 331; American Whig Review, 2: 117(E. 

A. Poe); Democratic Review, 40:554; Dublin University, 74: 

319; also A''. Ecclesiastical, 5: 555; London Monthly, 16: 

466; Potter American Monthly, 8: 23, 346. 

Dramatic Critic: His Work and His Influence. E. A. Dithmar. 

Forum, 23:237-45. 
Dramatic Criticism, Concerning. R. M. Sillard. Westminster, 150: 
634-40. 
Theory of. N. Hapgood. Forum, 27: 120-28. 
♦Dramatic Index. 1909, 1910. Edited by Frederick W. Faxon. 

Boston Book Company. 
Dramatic Outlook in America. J.B.Matthews, fl^arper, 78 : 924-30. 
Dramatist and the Theatre. J. B. Matthews. Century, 79: 3-19. 
Dramatists, American. A. Hornblow. Munsey, 12: 159. [See the 
files of the Theatre Magazine, of which Mr. Hornblow is the 
Editor.] A. Davies. Cosmopolitan, 'iO: 81. 
Protecting Native. Nation, 91 : 504. 
Dramatists, Our New Generation of. W. P. Eaton. American 

Magazine, 71 : 120-29. 
♦Dramatization of Novels. J. B. Matthews. See "Books and 
Plays" and "Pen and Ink." [See also Bookman, 28:233; 
Cosmopolitan, 36:387; Book Buyer, 19:282; Nation, 87: 
256-57.] 
Dramatizations. P. Wilstach. Dial, SB: 5. 

Dunlap, William, and his Writings. O. Wegelin. Literary Collector, 
7 : 69-76. [See Dunlap's "History of the American Theatre." 
1883.] 
*Dunlap, William. Kotzebue references in Frederick H. Wilkins' 
"Early Influence of German Literature in America." Ameri- 
cana Germanica, 3: 103-205, 1899. 
*Eaton, Walter P. The American Stage of To-day. Small, May- 
nard, 1908. 
*At the New Theatre and Others. (1908-1910) 1910. 
Economics and the. Drama. J. G. Leigh. Economic Review, 19: 

174-81. 
Farce, Return of. W. P. Eaton. American Magazine, 71 : 264-73. 
Fitch, Clyde. 

City, The. C. Hamilton. Bookman, 31: 63-66. 
American Playwright. C. Hamilton. Bookman, 30: 135-38. 
As a Dramatist. J. R. Towse. Nation, 84: 526-27. 
Bachelor, The. C. Hamilton. Forum, 41: 340-41. 



384 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Clyde Fitch (Continued) 

Critical Appreciation. M. Birnbaum. Independent, 67:123-31. 
♦Clyde Fitch: A Tribute. As a Foreword to *' A Wave of Life." 

[Signed, M. J. M.j 
Dramatist as a Man of Letters. W. P. Eaton. Scribner, 47: 

490-97. 
How He Writes His Plays. Ada Patterson. Theatre, 7: 14- 

16, vii. 
Impersonal Note in Criticism. A. Dale. Cosmopolitan, 47: 

347-52. 
Popular Playwright. Putnam, 7 : 244-46. 
Sketch. Nation, S9: 2^0. 
Current Literature, 47:316-17; 47:552-54. 
♦Forrest, Edwin, Life of. W. R. Alger. 1877. 
Frohman, Charles. 

Character Sketch. S. E. Moffat. Cosmopolitan, 33:293-96. 

Frohman's Repertory. Blackwood, 187:580-82. 

New Phases of Theatre Management. Harper^ s Weekly, 48: 

2022-24. 
Sketch of Frohman. Munsey, 21 : 945. 

When Actors Play to an Audience of One. J. D. Williams. 
Ladies' Home Journal, 27 : 9. 
Frohman, Daniel. 

Manager's View of the Stage. Harper's Weekly, 48: 1988-89, 

1999. 
♦Memories of a Manager: Reminiscences of the Old Lyceum. 

Doubleday, 1911. 
Tendencies of the American Stage. Cosmopolitan, 38: 15-22. 
Theatres, The, and the Pubhc. Independent, 64:252-53. 
*Gamett, Porter. The Bohemian Jinks. Bohemian Club. 1908. 
*Grau, Robert. Forty Years' Observation of Music and Drama. 
1909. 
*The Business Man in the Amusement World. 1910. 
♦Hamilton, Clayton. The Theory of the Theatre. Holt, 1910. 
♦Hapgood, Norman. The Stage in America, 1897-1900. Mac- 

millan, 1901. 
Howard, Bronson. His Work. Bookman, 10:195. 

Our Schools for the Stage. (B. H.) Century, 61 : 28-37. 
The Banker's Daughter. J. L. Ford. Munsey, 34: 122, 199. 
The Plays of. Century, 3: 465. 
Howells, W. D. A New Taste in Theatricals. Burlesques. Allan- 
iic, 23:635-44. 
♦Criticism and Fiction. Harper, 1892, 
John T. Raymond as Col. Sellers. Atlantic, 35:",749-51. 
Plays of Henry Arthur Jones. North American^ 186: 205^12, 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 385 

Ho3rt, Charles H. An Analysis of his Farces. ^Bostonian, 3 : 386. 
Humor, American, and Bret Harte. G. K. Chesterton. Critic, 
41 : 170-74. [In " Varied Types."] 

American Humorists. J. Benton. Bookman, 21 : 584-89. 

American Sense of. H. Roof. Outlook, 96: 311-16. 

Broad American. N. Hapgood. [Weber and Fields.] See his 
"The Stage in America." 

Capable Humorist. M. Twain. Harper's Weekly, 53: 13. 

Century of American. J. L. Ford. Munsey, 25 : 482-90. 

Essence of. A. C. Benson. Putnam, 3: 48-54. 
' Essence of American. C. Johnstone. Atlantic, 87: 195-202. 

Feminine Humorists. A. B. Maurice. Good Housekeeping, 
50:34-39. 

First Lessons in. C. Wells. Century, 64: 77-83. 

Holmes as a Humorist. J. W. Linn. University of Chicago Mag- 
azine, 2: 16-23. 

Mr. Dooley. Living Age, 267: 439-41. 

Newspaper. W. D. Nesbit. Independent, 54: 804-6. 

Place of American. F. Treudley. Educational Review, 40: 92- 
96. 

Retrospect of American. W. P. Trent. Century, 63 : 45-64. 

Sense of Nonsense. Carolyn Wells. Scribner, 29: 239-48. 

Some Humorists. L.Hancock, ^oo^man, 16: 15-22. 

Word Concerning American. J. K. Bangs. Book Buyer, 20: 
205-8. 
*Hutton, L. Curiosities of the American Stage. Harper, 1891. 
♦Ireland, J. N. History of the Stage in New Yorli. (1750-1860.) 

1866. 
*James, Henry. Brownell. W. C, American Prose Masters, 
pp. 339-400. Atlantic, 95 : 496-519. 

American, The, on the Stage. Atlantic, 68: 846-48. 

*French Poets and NoveUsts. Macmillan. 1893. 

♦Theatricals. London, 1894. 

* Views and Reviews. Boston, 1908. 
Klaw, Marc. Theatrical Syndicate. Cosmopolitan, 38: 199-201. 
Klein, Charles. 

Daughters of Men. Excerpts. Current Literature, 42:73-77. 

Klein and the Third Degree. A. Ruhl. Collier, 42: 17. 

Lion and the Mouse. Excerpts. Current Literature, 42: 427- 
33. 

Merriwold Dramatists. B.Millard. Bookman, 29:627-33. 

Psychology of the Drama. Reader, 7 : 374-77. 

Religion, Philosophy, and the Drama. Arena, 37:492-97. 

The Gamblers. Excerpts. Current Literature, 50: Qil-'^S. 

Third Degree. Excerpts. Current Literature, 47:427-33. 



386 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Charles Klein (Continued) 

Third Degree. B. O. Flower. Arena, 41: 139-52. 
Third Degree and Reformation of PoHce. L. F. Pierce. World 
To-day, 17:966-73. 
Lancaster, A. E. Historical American Plays. Chautauquan, 31: 

359-64. 
Librettist and his Profits. G. Middleton. Bookman, 28: 116-23. 
Librettists and Librettos. L. M. Isaacs. Forum, 42: 333-43. 
Literature and the Drama. E. Fawcett. Dial, 14:38. 
G.Moore. Fortnightly, 52: Q20-32. 
H. D. Traill. New Review, 5: 502. 
Literature, and the Drama. H. A. Jones. Atlantic, 98: 796-807. 
E. A. Baughan. Fortnightly, 90: 775-82. Ldving Age, 259: 781- 

87. 
♦Relation of Drama to. J. B. Matthews. Historical Novel, 
217-38. 
♦Mackaye, Percy. The Playhouse and the Play. Macmillan, 1909. 
♦Magazine and the Drama. An Index. James Harry Pence. Dun- 
lap Society Publication, 1896. 
Manager vs. Critic. Paul Armstrong and Hartley Davis. Every- 
body, 21:119-25; 125-30. 
♦Matthews, J. Brander. The Historical Novel and Other Essays. 
Scrihner, 1901. [The Relation of Drama to Literature. 
The Conventions of the Drama. The Art and Mystery of 
Collaboration.] 
♦Inquiries and Opinions. Scrihner, 1907. [The Modern Novel 
and the Modern Play. The Literary Merit of our Latter-day 
Drama. The Art of the Stage-Manager.] 
♦Pen and Ink. [The Dramatization of Novels.] Scrihner, 1902. 
Melodrama. H.J.Smith. A iianiic, 99:320-28. 
Merrington, Marguerite. The Theatre for Everybody. World^s 

Work, 21 : 13806-9. 
Merriwold Dramatists. B.Millard. Boofcman, 29 : 627-33. 
Middleton, George. Planting a Play. Bookman, 32: 148-53. 
♦Murdock, James E. The Stage. 
Museum-Gallery for the Drama. J. B. Matthews. Bookman, 22: 

174-79. 
New England's Contribution to the Stage. New England Maga- 
zine, 39:634-36. 
Newspaper and Theatre. Outlook, 93: 12-13. 
New Theatre. 

American Magazine, 69:696-704; Nation, 89:466-67; Outlook, 

93:613-15. 
and Contemporary Plays. C. Hamilton. Bookman, 30: 456-64. 
At the. A. Ruhl. Collier, 44: 16. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 387 

New Theatre (Continued) 

Henry Miller and the. Current Literature, 48: 318-19. 
Its Aim and Success. Outlook, 94: 514-15. 
Literary Mail. Bookman, 30: 336-38. 
Service to Dramatic Art. Everybody, 22:265-74. 
The Director of. W. Inglis. Harper's Weekly, 53:8-9. 
Year at. W. P. Eaton. Atlantic, 105:689-96. 
Year at. M. J. Moses. Independent, 68: 1030-35. 
W. Ames. Collier, 44: 17-19. 
J. Corbin. Harper's Weekly, 52, no. 35:23, 30. 
J. Corbin. Outlook, 93: 395-406. 
M. Merrington. Bookman, 27: 5Q1-QQ. 
W. L. Phelps. Independent, 67:957-62. 
What It Stands for. Collier, 44: 10. 
Novel and Drama. Advice to Authors. Blackwood, 57:679-87 
(1845). 
Drama and the. Norman Hapgood. "The Stage in America." 
Dramatized, Earnings of the. G. Middleton. Bookman, 28: 

233-39. 
Modern, and Modern Play. J. B. Matthews. North Ameri- 
can, 181:699-711. 
Novels, Dramatization of. J. B. Matthews. Longmans, 14:588. 
J. M. Porter. Macmillan, 40:244. 
Dramatizing, Art of , P.Potter. Cosmopolitan, S6:SS7. 
Turned into Plays. E. A. Dithmar. Book Buyer, 19: 282-84. 
Novelists, English, as Dramatists. E. Morton. Bookman, 7: 481-84. 
Novehzed Play. Nation, 87: 256-57. 

Palmer, A. M. and his Theatre. G. E. Montgomery. American 
Magazine, 9:1. 
Moral Influence of the Drama. North American, 136: 581-606. 
Why Theatrical Managers Reject Plays. Forum, 15: 614-20. 
Panic, Theatres and the. D. Frohman. Independent, 64:252-53. 
*Pantomime, A History of . R. J. Broadbent. London, 1901. [See 

Chapter XX, "Pantomime in America."] 
*Payne, John Howard, Life of. Gabriel Harrison. Lippincott, 1885. 

[Contains a Bibliography of his plays.] 
Play, First, in America. W. J. Neidig. Nation, 88:86-88. 
F. L. Gay. Nation, 88:136. 
Problem, Moral Aspects of the. L. W. Flaccus. Atlantic, 102: 

638-46. 
The Matter of the. M. M. Fiske. International Monthly, 5: 
629. 
♦Plays, Early American (1714-1830). O. Wegelin. Literary Col- 
lector Press, 1905. [See also Dunlap Society Publication, n. s., 
1900.1 



388 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

♦Plays, Later American (1831-1900). Robert F. Roden. Dunlap 

Society, 1900. 
Plays, More Early American. O. Wegelin. Literary Collector, 2: 

82-84. 
Plays, Printing of. C. H. Meltzer. Independent, 62:20-23. 

Publishing of. J. B. Matthews. North American, 182: 414-25. 
that Don't Get Played. J. Corbin. World's W<yrk, 20: 13035- 
41. 
Playwright and his Players. J. B. Matthews. Scribner, 45: 116- 
20. 
and Playgoers. J. B. Matthews. Atlantic, 102: 421-26. 
Unproduced, and his Play. G. Middleton. jReader, 10: 167-76. 
Playwrights, Dearth of. Nation, 84: 448-49. 
in the United States. Bookman, 30: 35-38. 
Younger American. C.Hamilton. J5oofcman, 32:249-57. 
Playwriting, Success in. E. Marbury. Harper's Weekly, 49: 1786; 

1792-93. 
Poetry and the Stage. S. Gwynn. Fortnightly, 91: 337-51; also 

Ldving Age, 261:3-14. 
Press-Agent, Theatrical. Independent, 59 : 191-96. 
♦Ritchie, Anna Cora Mowatt. Autobiography. 

On Frances Anne Kemble. Macmillan, 68 : 190. 
*Rees, J. The Dramatic Authors of America. Philadelphia, 

1845. 
Savage, Henry W. American Managers and Players. Harper's 
Weekly, 48:1846-47. 
Opera in English for Americans. Independent, 52: 1109-11. 
Schools, American Dramatic. Algernon Tassin. Bookman, 25: 151- 

65. 
♦Smith, Solomon F. Theatrical Management in the West and 

South. Harper, 1868. 
Stage, American. Fred Daly. Time, 13: 29-169. 

Condition of. J. Magnus. North American, 144: 169-178 

(1887). 
Supremacy of the. A. Dale. Cosmopolitan, 48: 75-80. 
Tendencies of the, D. Frohman. Cosmopolitan, 38: 15. 
Stage. Our National. James L. Ford. McClure, 32: 491-99. 

Passing of the Great. W. P. Eaton. Munsey, 41: 311-22. 
Stage Management, Neglect of. W. P. Eaton. American Maga- 
zine, 71 : 400-9. 
Stock Companies and their Earnings. Geoffrey Monmouth. Book- 
man, 31:276-81. 
Syndicate, The. Norman Hapgood. In "The Stage in America." 
Theatrical, Rise and Fall of. W. P. Eaton. American Maga- 
zine, 70:832-42. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 389 

Tarkington, Booth. Sister Arts: Novel or Drama for pathos or 

comic hits. Collier, 42: 15. 
Theatre, American. Early Days. Dial, 7: 271. 

First. G. H. Moore. North American History, 21 : 58. 
Over-production in the. C. Hamilton. Forum, 42: 353-65. 
Paucity of Themes' in the. C. Hamilton. Forum, 41: 544-51. 
Present Condition in. J. D. Barry. Booklover's, 5:239. 
Seilheimer. Athenceum, '90, 1:56. 
Theatre, Endowed, American. Arena, 31:641; 32:48. 

and the American Stage. H. Modjeska. Forum, 14: 337-44. 
Business of a. W. J. Henderson. Scrihner, 25: 297-314. 
Business Side of the. Hartley Davis. Everybody, 21 : 665-74. 
Subscription, W. D. Howells. Literature, 4: 313-14. 
Trust on View. J. R. Towse. Nation, 80: 348. 
Vaudeville. E. M. Royle. *Scn6ner, 26:485-95. 
What is the Matter with the? J. S. Metcalfe. World's Work, 

16:10204^7. 
Theatrical Business in America. C. Hawtrey. Fortnightly, 79: 1010- 

16. 
Conditions. A^a^zon, 84: 182-83. 
*Independent Movements. G. Davenport. Boston, 1907. 

[In "Stage Affairs in America To-day,"] 
Manager, A Plea for the. L. F. Deland. Atlantic, 102: 492- 

500. 
Stock and Its Dividend. G. Monmouth. Bookman, 31 : 276-81. 
Theatrical Trust. Cause of Degradation of Drama. J. Ranken 

Towse. ATo^ion, 84:448-49. 
Thomas, Augustus. 

And the Bogy Man, A. Ruhl. Collier, 44: 23. 
Autobiographical Sketch. Outlook, 94:212-14. 
Claims of the Candidates. North American, 187: 801-50. 
Harvest Moon. Excerpts. Current Literature, 47: 661-68. 
How I Wrote My Greatest Play. A. T. Delineator, 73: 221- 

22, 
Typical American Dramatist. V. W. Brooks. World's Work, 

18: 11882-85. 
Witching Hour. Excerpts. Current Literature, 46: 544-51. 
Work of. W. Winter. Harper's Weekly, 5:13. 

[See also Harper's Weekly, 4:4:'. ^^7; ilfwnse?/, 24: 413-19; 

27:522; Bookman, 14:449; Critic, 44:205; Sewanee Review, 

April, 1907.] 

* "Alabama," "Arizona," and "As a Man Thinks" have been 
published. 
*Tragedy, Our Idea of. E. E. Hale, Jr. In "Dramatists of To- 
day." 



390 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Thompson, Denman. Current Literature, 50:641-48. 

W. H. Walsh. New England Magazine, 43: 43-50. 
Tragedy. The Origin of. W. Ridgeway. Quarterly, 209: 504-23. 

What is a. H. Caine and R. Buchanan. Academy, 34: 15,30. 
Trust, Theatre. W. D. Howells. Harper's Weekly, 42: 202. 
*Tyler, Royall. The Contrast. Dunlap Society Pubhcation, No. 1, 

1887. 
Vaudeville, Breaking into. S. Collins. Collier, 42: 20. 

Business Side of. H. Davies. Everybody, 17: 527-37. 

Decay of. American Magazine, 69: 840-48. 

Decline of. Harper, 106: 811-15. 

Holds the Boards, Where. C. R. Sherlock. Cosmopolitan, 32: 
411-20. 

In. H. Davies. Everybody, 13:231-40. 

Investigation of. N. Alliston. Independent, 53: 1733-36. 

Tony Pastor. Harper's Weekly, 52: 10. 

Trend of. Independent, 53: 1092-93. 
*Walter, Eugene. The Easiest Way. Privately printed. 
♦Washington and the Theatre. P. L. Ford. Dunlap Society Pub- 
lication, n. s. 8, 1899. 
♦Wernyss, F. C. Chronology of the American Stage. [1752-1852.] 

*Twenty-six Years of the Life of an Actor and Manager. 
1847. 
Williams, Jesse Lynch. The Vice of Playij^riting. Metropolitan 

Magazine, 30:680-84. 
Willis, N. P., Dramas of. (C. C. Felton.) North American, 51: 

141-58. 
♦Winter, William. Brief Chronicles. Pt. 1 and Pt. 2. Dunlap 

Society Publication, vols. 7-8, 1889; Pt. 3, vol. 10, 1890. 

*Other Days: Being Chronicles and Memories of the Stage. 
Moffat, Yard, 1908. 

Theatrical Mismanagement. Harper's Weekly, 54: 9-10, 34. 
Women Dramatists, Successful. Virginia Frame. Theatre, 6: 265- 

66, ix. 
Women Who Write Plays. L. A. Pierce. World To-day , 15: 725-31. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 391 



Significant Books on the Deama 

Issued since 1910, which bear directly on the work of the American 
Dramatist. 

Andrews, Charlton. The Drama To-day. Philadelphia: J. B. 

Lippincott. 1913. 
Beegle, Mary Porter, and Crawford, Jack R. Community Drama and 

Pageantry. Yale University Press. 1916. 
Belasco, David. Reminiscences. Hoarst^s Magazine, beginning 

March, 1914. 
Burton, Richard. The New American Drama. New York: Thomas 

Y. Crowell Co. 1913. 
Burton, Richard. How to See a Play. New York: The Macmillan 

Co. 1914. 
Caffin, Carohne. Vaudeville. New York: Mitchell Kennerley. 1914. 
Cannon, Fanny. Writing and Selling a Play. New York: Henry 

Holt & Co. 1915. 
Chandler, F. W. Aspects of Modem Drama. New York: The 

Macmillan Co. 1914. 
Chaplin, Charles. Charlie Chaplin's Own Story. Indianapolis: 

Bobbs-Merrill Co. 1916. 
Cheney, Sheldon. The New Movement in the Theatre. New York: 

Mitchell Kennerley. 1914. 
Clark, Barrett H. The British and American Drama of To-day. 

Outlines for their Study. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 1915. 
Crawford, Mary Caroline. The Romance of the American Theatre. 

Boston: Little, Brown & Co. 1913. 
Dickinson, Thomas H. The Case of American Drama. Boston: 

Houghton Mifflm Co. 1915. 
Drama League of America. Study Course in American Drama. 

Montrose J. Moses. 1916. 
Eaton, Walter P. Plays and Players. Leaves from a Critic's 

Scrapbook. Cincinnati: Stewart & Kidd Co. 1916. 
Frohman, Daniel, and Marcosson, Isaac F. Charles Frohman: Man- 
ager & Man. With an Appreciation by Sir James M. Barrie. 

New York: Harper & Bros. 1916. 
Gillette, WiUiam. The Illusion of the First Time in Acting. Intro- 
duction by George Arliss. New York: Columbia University 

Dramatic Museum. 1915. Second Series, No. 1. 
Goldman, Emma. The Social Significance of the Modem Drama. 

Boston: R. G. Badger. 1914. 
Grau, Robert. The Theatre of Science. New York. 1914. 



392 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Hamilton, Clayton. Studies in Stagecraft. New York: Henry 
Holt & Co. 1914. 

Henderson, Archibald. The Changing Drama. Contributions and 
Tendencies. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 1914. 

Hornblow, Arthur. Training for the Stage. Foreword by David 
Belasco. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott Co. 1916. 

Howard, Bronson. The Autobiography of a Play. With an Intro- 
duction by Augustus Thomas. Columbia University Dramatic 
Museum. First Series, No. II. 1914. 

Hunt, Elizabeth R. The Play of To-day. Studies in Play-Structure 
for the Student and the Theatre-Goer. New York: John 
Lane Co. 1913. 

Krows, Arthur Edwin. Play Production in America. With nu- 
merous illustrations. New York: Henry Holt & Co. 1916. 

Lewisohn, Ludwig. The Modern Drama: An Essay in Interpreta- 
tion. New York: B. W. Huebsch. 1915. 

Lindsay, Vachell. The Art of the Moving Picture. New York: 
Macmillan Co. 1915. 

Mackaye, Percy. The Civic Theatre in Relation to the Redemp- 
tion of Leisure. New York: Mitchell Kennerley. 1912. 

Matthews, Brander. A Book about the Theatre. New York: 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 1916. 

Moderwell, Hiram Kelly. The Theatre of To-day. New York: 
John Lane. 1914. 

Munsterberg, Hugo. The Photo-play : A Psychological Study. New 
York: D. Appleton & Co. 1916. 

Nathan, George Jean. Another Book on the Theatre. New York: 
Huebsch. 1915. 

Pierce, J. A. 

Ruhl, Arthur. Second Nights. People and Ideas of the Theatre 
To-day. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons. 1914. 

Sargent, Epes Winthrop. Technique of the Photo-play. Moving 
Picture World. 1916. 

Shipman, Louis Evan. The True Adventures of a Play. New York: 
Mitchell Kennerley. 1914. 

Sothern, E. H. The Melancholy Tale of "Me." New York: 
Charles Scribner's Sons. 1916. 

Towse, John Ranken. Sixty Years of the Theatre: An Old Critic's 
Memories. Illustrated. New York : Funk & Wagnalls Co. 1916. 

Walsh, Townsend. Career of Dion Boucicault. New York: The 
Dunlap Society. 1916. 

Winter, William. The Wallet of Time. Containing Personal, Bio- 
graphical, and Critical Reminiscences of the American Theatre. 
2 vols. New York: Moffat, Yard & Co. 1913. 



BIBLIOGRAPHY 393 



II 

A Short List op Plats by American Dramatists 
Published since 1910 

[For further references, consult the Dramatic Index, and the Bulletin of Bibliog- 
raphy, Pt. Ill, IV, vol. 9; Nos. 1-2, pp. 18-19; January, 1916;— pp. 44-45, April, 
1916; Twentieth Century Dramas: English, Irish, American. Compiled by Flor- 
ence E. Foshay.] 

Anspacher, L. K. The Unchastened Woman. New York: Stokes. 

1916. 
Belasco, David. The Return of Peter Grimm. See M. J. Moses, 

Representative Dramas by American Dramatists, Vol. III. 
Brown, Alice. Children of Earth. New York: Macmillan. 1915. 
Buchanan, Thompson. A Woman's Way. Drama League Series. 

New York: Doubleday. 1915. 
Bynner, Witter. Tiger. New York: Kennerley. 1913. 
Crothers, Rachel. The Three of Us. New York: Samuel French. 
Dickinson, Thomas H. Wisconsin Plays. New York: Huebsch. 

1914. 
Dickinson, Thomas H. Chief Contemporary Dramatists. Boston: 

Houghton Mifflin. 1915. 
Dix, Beulah Marie. Across the Border. New York: Holt. 1915. 
Dreiser, Theodore. Plays of the Natural and the Supernatural. 

New York: John Lane. 1916. 
Elhs, Edith. Mary Jane's Pa. Boston: Little, Brown. 1916. 
Gates, Eleanor. We Are Seven; also The Poor Little Rich Girl. 

Arrow Publishing Co. 
Gillette, Wilham. Electricity. Drama, November, 1913. 
Hazelton, George C, and Benrimo. The Yellow Jacket. Indianap- 

oUs: Bobbs-Merrill. 1913. 
Kenyon, Charles. Kindling. Dramxi League Series. New York: 

Doubleday. 1914. 
Mackaye, Percy. A Thousand Years Ago. Dramu League Series. 

New York: Doubleday. 1914. 
Manners, J. Hartley. Happiness. New York: Dodd Mead. 1914. 
Middleton, George. Embers (1911); Tradition (1913); Nowadays 

(1914); Possession (1915); The Road Together (1916). New 

York: Holt. 
Moses, Montrose J. Representative Dramas by American Dram- 
atists. 3 vols. New York: Dutton. 1917. 
Robinson, Edwin Arlington. Van Zorn (1914); The Porcupine 

(1915). New York: Macmillan. 
Sheldon, Edwin. Romance (1914); The [Nigger. New York: 

Macmillan. 



394 BIBLIOGRAPHY 

Smith, Winchell. The Boomerang. New York: Samuel French. 

1916. 
Thomas, A. E. Her Husband's Wife. Drama League Series. New 

York: Doubleday. 1914. 
Walter, Eugene. The Easiest Way. Drama League Series. New 

York: Doubleday. 1917. 
Wentworth, Marion Craig. War Brides. New York: Century. 

1915. 
Wilde, Percival. Confessional (1916); Dawn (1915). New York: 

Holt. 



INDEX 



Actor, the, and his special r61e, 40 

Actor, the American, 280; and the 
American type, 50 

Adams, Maude, and "The Maid of 
Orleans," 244 

Adaptations and the American 
manager, 56 

Ade, George, career of, 272, 273; 
explains "The Sho-Gun," 273; 
defines American drama, 273; 
characteristics of his plays, 273; 
his first plays, 273; and the 
"movies," 217; mentioned, 305 

Advertising, theatrical, deceptive, 
38 

Agricultural College Little Country 
Theatre, 332 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, men- 
tioned, 308; and "Judith of 
Bethulia," 364 

America and the foreign spirit, 9; 
and the common clay, 10; and 
the technique of Ibsen, 10; and 
Maeterlinck, 10; and spiritual 
struggle, 28 

America's solution of social prob- 
lems, 10 

American acting, the golden era of, 
and Belasco, 115 

American and English life con- 
trasted, 17 

American character, the, 14; and 
the play, 364 

American drama, essentials of, 
11-36; advance of, since 1910, 
289; encouraged by the Drama 
League, 290; increased interest 
in the study of, 292 

"American Dramas, Representa- 
tive," a three- volume edition, 
by Montrose J. Moses, 72 

American Dramatists Club, 346 



American girl, the theatrical, 86 
American historical drama, 45 
American idea, the, 88, 89 
American life and action, 31; and 
American drama, 12; distin- 
guishing features of, 9; where is 
the true, 92 
American on the stage. The, 49 
American spirit, the, in De Mille's 

"Strongheart," 15, 16 
American, the, in defeat, 14 
American themes that persist, 47 
American type, the, 75, 76 
Americans characterized, 23 
Ames, Winthrop, as director of the 
New Theatre, 277; as a success- 
ful manager, 286; his $10,000 
prize competition, 304; men- 
tioned, 326 
Amusement concentration, 354 
Andr6, Major, and the theatre, 

43 
Anspacher, Louis K., the excel- 
lencies and defects in his "The 
Unchastened Woman," 299, 300 
Archer, William, and Granville 

Barker, 276, 277 
Aristotle on tragedy, 257; and the 

ludicrous, 267, 268 
Art and business, 279 
Arvold, Alfred, and his ideas about 

the Little Country Theatre, 332 
Audience, interest of the five-cent, 

211 
Audiences and the open, 247 
Authors, American, and foreign 

literature, 59 
Avery Gallery of Columbia Uni- 
versity, 348 

Baker, Professor George P., his 
course in drama, 242 (note) ; his 



396 



INDEX 



"Workshop 47," 335, 336; and 
the managers, 337 

"Banker's Daughter, The," changes 
in, 87 

Barrett, Lawrence, and Howells, 64 

Barrie, James M., and sentiment, 
237; and the Comic Spirit, 264 

Batcman, Mrs. Sidney F., and 
"Self," 53 

Beach, Rex, on the technique of 
novels and stories, 301 

Beers, H. A., quoted, 62 

Belasco, David, and Heme, 94, 
95, 116; and the psychology of 
the switchboard. 111; early in- 
fluences, 112; and Boucicault, 
112; the painter, 112; analyzed, 
112,113; the dramatist, 113; his 
education, 113, 114; his tastes, 
114; early years, 114; his par- 
ents come to America, 114; in 
San Francisco, 114; and the 
priesthood, 114; as a stage man- 
ager, 115, 126; re- writes Shake- 
speare, 115; his first play, 115; 
the struggling actor, 115; at 
Lincoln College, 115; and the 
golden era of American acting, 
115; and E. A. Sothern, 115; 
manager of the Baldwin Theatre, 
San Francisco, 116; on the 
Pacific slope, 116; becomes 
Boucicault's secretary, 116; de- 
cides to go to New York, 117; 
engaged by the Mallorys, 117; 
at the Madison Square Theatre, 
117; shapes "The Young Mrs. 
Winthrop," 118; and the quiet, 
domestic play, 118; trains him- 
self as a manager, 118, 119; his 
published plays, 119 (note); his 
early plays, 119; and the Pas- 
sion Play, 120; career between 
1890-95, 120; collaborates with 
De Mille, 120; writes "Lord 
Chumley" with De Mille, 120; 
and Sophocles, 120 (note); cre- 
ates a distinctive atmosphere, 
121; his "The Heart of Mary- 
land," 121; his "Zaza," 121; 
diflaculty with the Trust, 121, 122; 



his "stars," 122; hia collaborat- 
ors, 122; his plays in collabora- 
tion, 122, 123; his detailed manu- 
scripts, 123; his "The Darling 
of the Gods," 123; his special 
successes (1909-11), 123 (note); 
detail in the first act of "Zaza," 
123; the barbaric note in his 
plays, 124; and Sardou, 124; 
and the switchboard, 125, 128; 
his studio, 126; his "light-plots," 
126; at rehearsal, 126, 128; his 
theatricalism, 133; his position, 
134; his effectiveness, 134; as a 
reviser of plays, 136; writes, 
with Charles Klein, "The Music 
Master," 156; criticizes Little 
Theatres, 337 

Bernhardt, Sarah, and the moving- 
picture, 217 

Bidwell, Barnabas, and "The Mer- 
cenary Match," 44 

Bird, Robert Montgomery, plays 
by, 66 (note); his "The Glad- 
iator," 66 

Bohemian Club, The, of San Fran- 
cisco, 247 

Boker, George Henry, his "Fran- 
cesca da Rimini," 61, 71; hia 
career, 67, 68; his plays, 68 
(note); quoted on "Francesca 
da Rimini," 68, 69; his method 
of work, 68-70; criticized by 
Richard Henry Stoddard, 70; 
stage history of "Francesca da 
Rimini," 70 (note) 

"Books," comic opera, 253 

Boucicault, Dion, 57; on the 
American drama, 57; and Eng- 
lish managers, 76 ; and audiences, 
111; and the Madison Square 
Theatre, 118; gathering facts 
about, 346 

Brackenridge, Hugh Henry, dramas 
by, 45; mentioned, 291 

British Army, the, and the Ameri- 
can drama, 43 

Broadhurst, George, as a "Play- 
doctor," 297; his "Bought and 
Paid For," 298; his " Man of the 
Hour," 299 



INDEX 



397 



Brougham, John, and New York 
in 1842, 53; and W. E. Buxton, 
55 

Brown, Alice, and "Children of 
Earth," the prize play, 304; com- 
pared with "The Great Divide," 
304 

Browning's "A Blot in the 'Scutch- 
eon," 235 

Burgoyne, General, as a dramatist, 
43 

Burnett, Mrs. F. H., 161, 166 

Butcher, Professor, and tragedy, 
258; and the human, 267 

Cardboard play, the, 154 

Carleton's "Memnon," 27 

Chanfrau's Mose, 52 

Character, sense of, 169 

"Chimmie Fadden" and other 
modern types, 52 

Closet-drama, our literary and, 
59-72 

Closet-dramatist, the, 62 

Coburn Players, the, 246 

Cohan, George M., 272; his plays, 
253; mentioned, 305 

Coleridge and a point of relative 
rest, 232; and drama, 234; on 
the drama, 235 

College drama, 242, 243 (note) 

College of the City of New York, 
drama in the, 242 

Columbian Celebration Company 
and Steele Mackaye, 151 

Comedy, and tragedy, 255; vs. 
tragedy, 260, 263; the tragic in, 
261; examples of, 261; poor 
analysis of, 263 ; and tragedy de- 
fined by Matthews, 266; and 
the Greeks, 267, 268; and Shake- 
speare, 268; need for a book on, 
269; defined by Meredith, 269, 
270; bibliography of, 275 

Comedy of manners, 343 

Comic emotion defined, 267 

Comic opera, 252 

Comic poet, 267 

Comic Spirit, the, 263, 264, 266, 
275; and Barrie, 264; and 
Percy Mackaye, 264; and fun, 



265; in literature, 265; and 

Moli^re, 268 
Communal aspects of the theatre, 2 
Condition, social, in drama, 7 
Congreve on humor, 268 
Conrad, Robert T., 66; his "Jack 

Cade," 27, 64, 60 
"Contrast, The," 49 
Courtney, W. L., on tragedy, 257 
Craig, Gordon, and the theatre, 

133 
Creole drama mentioned, 376 
Crinkle, Njon, and Steele Mackaye, 

145, 149 
Critic and dramatist, 36 
Critic, dramatic, work of the, 368, 

369, 371 
Critical and creative faculties, the, 

29 
Criticism, dramatic, need for, 362 
Criticism, theory of, 369 
Critics of the theatre, 2 
Crothers, Rachel, and "The Three 

of Us," 83; and her plays, 376 
Crowd, the, and drama, 3 ; and the 

dramatist, 6 

Daly, Augustin, activity of, 56, 117; 
library of, 344; and the Ameri- 
can drama, 77 ; on the American 
drama, 57 

Dartmouth College and dramatics, 
334 

Davis, Owen, 190; quoted, 31, 32; 
evolution of, 32; situation in 
plays of, 191; career of , 191, 192; 
attitude toward melodrama, 192; 
on melodrama, 192-194; "Con- 
vict 999," 194; plays of, 194, 
and note 

Davis, Richard Harding, "Soldiers 
of Fortune " quoted, 17 

Dazey, C. T., "In Old Kentucky," 
37 

Definitions, need of new, in drama, 
274 

Delsarte, Frangois, and Steele Mac- 
kaye, 142 

De Mille, Henry, and the Madison 
Square Theatre, 118; as a reader 
of plays, 118, 136; collaborates 



398 



INDEX 



with Belasco, 120; association 
with Mackaye, 135 

De Mille, William, 137; and Percy 
Mackaye, 136, 137; his plays 
and his position, 303 

Destiny, modern conception of, 5 

Dialogue, sense of, 169 

Dickinson, Thomas H., and the 
Wisconsin Plays, quoted, 314; 
mentioned, 324; and the one- 
act play, 326 

Dime-novel period in America, 188 

Disintegration and regeneration of 
the theatre, 352-366 

Drama, as a social force, 1-10; 
growth of, 3; philosophical 
growth of, 3; modern social, and 
its moral purpose, 4; and clash 
of wills, 4; the social, 5, 6; 
social drama and the critics, 6; 
and action, 7; and the "little 
moments," 18, 234; factors con- 
sidered in, 18; and dramatic 
form, 18; defined, 19-21; essen- 
tial demand of, 21 ; and literature 
of national fibre, 24; of condi- 
tion, 24; and the reportorial 
instinct, 26; English, and literary 
standards, 28; trend of, from 
1750 to 1870, 37; Quaker feeling 
against, 42 ; and the literary atti- 
tude, 61 ; foreign, the formula of, 
86; externalizing, 154, 155; and 
music, relation of, 187; and 
the poet, 228, 229, 236; and 
quotidian hapE>enings, 231; and 
passion, 232; and indefiniteness, 
232; and the English poets, 233; 
and opera, 235; and life, 237; 
and unseen forces, 238; status 
of present day, 241; imitation 
of ancient attitude in modern, 
244; civic expressions of, 248, 
249; and education, 249; and 
old moulds, 251; present day 
modifications in, 251, 252; and 
the university, 265; commercial 
regulation of, 279; characteris- 
tics of modern, 289 ; books on the, 
and the auctioneer, 340; original 
sources in, 346; gaps in the 



study of, 346; transitory char- 
acter of, 347; rare books on the 
349; university attitude toward 
350; word national applied to 
350, 351; comparative aspects 
of, 351; present changes in, 356 
critiques on the, 361, 362; im- 
proving attitude toward, 363 
and literature, 365; bettering 
the, 365 

Drama, American, a subdivision of 
English drama, 11; defined by 
American dramatists, 12; prob- 
lem of defining, 12; and democ- 
racy, 13; and "uplift," 13; and 
the "square deal," 13; and his- 
tory, 23; imitative, 27; historical 
trend of, 28; early, 44; value 
of, before 1870, 58; interest of 
literary men in, 65; existence of 
an, 74; before 1870, 75; and 
the managers, 76; a market for, 
89; neglect of, 91; Poe on, 227; 
forms of, 251-275; Ade defines, 
273; some of the best modern, 
305; readable, 363; and Idea, 
377; dramatic critic's duty to- 
ward, 378 

Drama, poetic, in America, 91; 
should it be dramatized? 227- 
238 ; has no monopoly on poetry, 
228; and the poet, 228; is drama 
twice removed, 229; vs. drama, 
232; characteristics of, 233; ex- 
amples of the, 235; material for, 
237; misnomer of the, 238 

Drama, the realistic, and James A. 
Heme, 90 

Drama League, positive contribu- 
tion of the, 290; aids "Kind- 
ling," 295; referred to, 321 

Dramatic conventionalities, 83 

Dramatic critic, lack of authority, 
368; work of the, 369, 370; re- 
habilitation of the, 370, 371; the 
dramatist as, 371; limitations of 
the, 372 > 

Dramatic criticism, 367; and the 
personal element, 375; rehabili-" 
tation of, 375 

Dramatic critics removed, 374 



INDEX 



399 



Dramatic curve, 20 

Dramatic history, revelations of, 22 

Dramatic library, need for a, 341- 
351; reasons for need, 342; re- 
quirements of a, 347, 348; and 
New York city, 349 ; attempts to 
found a, 349; phases of a, 350; 
the spirit in founding a, 351 

Dramatic writing, the first Ameri- 
can, 42 

Dramatics, Educational, 322 

Dramatist, the American, and ex- 
ternal stage craft, 30; and the 
New Theatre, 282; the new, 
293, 302, 303; the defects of the, 
294; technique of, influenced by 
the moving-picture, 301; new 
dramatists mentioned, 302 

Dramatist, the real, 1 ; and the life 
of his time, 4; three essential ob- 
jects of the, 7; narrow vision of 
the social, 7; his trade, 35; high 
speed of the, 172; what consti- 
tutes a, 296 

Dramatists, Southern, of the old 
regime, 60; some literary, 67 

Dramatization, 254; and the novel 
form, 255; defects of, 20 

Dramatizations and audiences, 254, 
255 

Dreiser, Theodore, and his "Plays 
of the Natural and Super- 
natural," 304 

Drew, Mrs. John, and scenic real- 
ism, 112 

Dundreary, and other built parts, 40 

Dunlap, William, influenced by 
Kotzebue, 47; his "Andr6," 46; 
his plays,49 (note) ; account, 48,49 

Dunsany, Lord, mentioned, 323, 
324 

Eaton, W. P., comments on Miss 
Farrar as a "movie star," 220; 
comments on A. E. Thomas's 
"Her Husband's Wife," 302; as 
a dramatic critic, 372 

Electrical "plots," 127 

Electrician, the, and the theatre, 
125; at rehearsal, 127; behind 
the scenes, 128. 129 



Eliot, George, and Steele Mackaye, 

144 
Emerson and Ibsen, 233 

Fabian socialism and drama, 315 

"Famous Actor-Families in Amer- 
ica" and Galton's law, 135 

Farrar, Geraldine, and the "mov- 
ies," 220 

Fiske, Mrs., and her plays, 376 
(note) 

Fitch, Clyde, "The City," 156, 
182; at rehearsal, 157; and Au- 
gustus Thomas in comparison, 
159; his local sense, 169-185; 
and Pinero, 170, 171; plays of, 
171, 172 (note); "Knighting of 
the Twins," 172; as realist, ro- 
manticist, and sentimentalist, 
173; as feminist, 173; his tem- 
perament, 173; his use of the 
unusual, 173; "The Smart Set," 
173; and Idea, 174; on drama, 
174; and foreign drama, 175; 
and imitation, 175; a New York 
dramatist, 175, 176, 181, 182, 
183; characteristics of his plays, 
176; "The Climbers," 177; va- 
ried types of his dramas, 177; 
his feminism and his characteris- 
tics, 177; cleverness and similar- 
ity of his plays, 178; method of 
his humor, 178; "Captain Jinks 
of the Horse Marines," 178; his 
last trip abroad, 179, 180; his 
limitations, 179; his technique, 
180; his roles, 180, 181; his 
published plays, 181; his method 
of work, 181, 183, 184; bibliog- 
raphy, 181 (note), 182; his per- 
sonality, 182; his critics, 182; 
characteristics summarized, 182; 
his invention, 183; his ethics, 
183; his development, 184; the 
future, 184, 185; bibliographical, 
185; and the poetry of ordinary 
existence, 238; referred to, 292; 
the Fitch Bequest, 292; need of 
a Fitch Memorial, 347 

Folk-drama, 247 

Footlights, 132 



400 



INDEX 



Forbes, James, and "The Chorus 

Lady," 303 
Ford, Paul Leicester, quoted, 44; 

referred to, 46 
Forrest, Edwin, and the American 

stage, 59; encourages American 

dramatists, 66 
"Francesca da Rimini" on the 

stage, 70, 71 (note); Boker's 

play criticized, 71 
Francke, Kuno, ciuoted, 3; and 

modern Germany, 6 
Frohman, Charles, and Daniel 

Frohman, 57; his position, 357 
Frohman, Daniel, quoted, 23 

Galesburg, 111., Prairie Playhouse, 
331 

Galsworthy's "Strife," 240, 284; 
his social conscience and his 
plays, 295; his irony, 295 

Garland, Ilamlin, and locality, 12; 
on Mrs. Heme, 101 

Gates, Eleanor, and "The Poor 
Little Rich Girl," 306 

George, Henry, on "Shore Acres," 
97 

Germans, the, and comedy, 269 

Germany's influence on American 
drama, 47 

Gilbert, W. S., and opera librettists, 
251; and his "books," 253 

"Gilded Age, The," dramatized, 
51 

Gillette, William, 164-168; his play 
of purpose, 164; his youthful 
career, 164; his ability to amuse, 
164; and the well-made play, 
164; "The Private Secretary," 
165, 166; his early career, 165; 
"Sherlock Holmes," 165; "Held 
By the Enemy," 166; depend- 
ence on French and German, 166 
and note; his early dramatic 
ventures, 166; his original plays, 
166; "Electricity," 166; "Secret 
Service," 167; adaptation of 
Bernstein's "Samson," 167; in 
Barrie's "The Admirable Crich- 
ton," 167; his sentiment, 167; 
green lights and cigars, 167; 



his caution, 167; and melodrama, 
168; his published plays, 168 

"Girl of the Golden West, The," as 
an opera, 123 (note) 

Goodman, Edward, of the Wash- 
ington Square Players, quoted, 
313 

Greek, the, out-of-doors, 247 

Greeks and comedy, the, 267; and 
tragedy, 261; as dramatic critics, 
370 

Greet, Ben, 242, 246 

Gummere, Professor, and the vocero, 
247 

Guthrie, Dr., defines comic emo- 
tion, 267 

Hackett, James H., and American 
characterizations, 50, 51; and 
"Yankee" Hill, 50 

Hallam, William, the first road or- 
ganizer, 42 

Hamilton, Clayton, and the theory 
of the theatre, 6 

Hapgood, Norman, on Gillette's 
acting, 165 

Harrigan, Edward, 271; and Hart, 
271; their careers, 271 ; plays by, 
272 (note) 

Harrison, Bertram, and the North- 
ampton Municipal Theatre, 333 

Hauptmann mentioned, 4 

"Hazel Kirke," 147 

Hazleton's "The Yellow Jacket," 
305 

Heniger, Mrs. Minnie Herts, 322 

Heme, James A., and the American 
soil, 30; and his compromise, 30; 
and realism, 31 ; and the realistic 
drama, 90; his original position, 
91; his faults, 91, 92; his excel- 
lence, 92; hisclarity of vision, 92; 
his early life, 93; his sense of 
modern treatment, 93; his par- 
entage, 93; joins the theatre, 93; 
his first appearance, 93; supports 
Lucille Western, 94; early career 
as an actor, 94; in San Francisco, 
94; his Dickens' characters, 94; 
his first marriage, 94; and 
Belasco, 94, 95; bis secood mar- 



INDEX 



401 



riage, 95; and the Boucioault 
drama, 96; his acting in "Shore 
Acres," 96; Henry George's 
letter on "Shore Acres," 97; his 
plots, 97; "Hearts of Oak," 98; 
and the commonplace, 98; 
"Drifting Apart," 98; "The 
Rev. Griffith Davenport," 98, 
99, 100; historical studies, 99; 
critic of his own plays, 100; 
quoted on art, 100; his intellec- 
tual growth, 101; "Margaret 
Fleming," 101; his two types, 
102; his literary recognition, 
102; dedication of "Shore 
Acres," 102 (note); "Margaret 
Fleming" on the stage, 102, 103; 
forsakes stark realism, 103; as 
stage manager, 103, 104; at 
"Ashmont," 104; leaves Boston, 
104; "Heme Oaks," 104; char- 
acteristics and tastes, 104; sup- 
ports Henry George, 104, 107; 
the man described, 105; his 
family, 105; his children, 105; 
a man of the theatre, 106; stand 
against the theatrical syndicate, 
106 (note) ; his opinion of art and 
the theatre, 106, 107; his belief, 
106, 107, 108; praised by Archer, 
108; his style, 108; quoted, as 
example of descriptive powers, 

108, 109; bibliographical note, 

109, 110; description of Maine, 
109; list of plays by, 110; and 
Belasco, 116; and art, 233; 
"Margaret Fleming," 234, 235; 
manuscripts burned, 347 

Heme, Mrs. James A. (Katherine 
Corcoran), 95; her personal in- 
spiration, 96; as Mary Miller, 
98; Hamlin Garland's opinion of, 
99; her reading, 101; described 
by Hamlin Garland, 101 

Heron, Matilda, and "Camille," 56 

Herrick, Professor Robert, his 
course in drama, 242 

Hill, "Yankee," 50 

Historical personages and drama, 
46 

Historical perspective, value of, 58 



Hobbes on laughter, 267 

Holland, Joseph, and Morrell's 
"Life of Holland," 345 

Hornblow, Arthur, mentioned, 377 
(note) 

Horniman, Miss, and the Manches- 
ter Theatre cited, 311, 312, 
314 

Howard, Bronson, defines the 
American drama, 12; as an 
American, 30; details, 73-89; 
estimate of, 73; broad point of 
view, 73; lack of literary flavor, 
74; position in 1870, 74; and 
modern technique, 74, 75; title 
of Dean of the American drama, 
74, 88; his influences, 76; his 
ancestry, 77, 78; his father, 78; 
his name, 78; his eye-sight, 79; 
influenced by Bayard Taylor, 79 ; 
first literary inclinations, 79 ; life 
in Detroit, 79; discusses drama 
before the Detroit Prismatic 
Club, 79; prepares for Yale, 79; 
Harvard University address, 79, 
87; "Fantine," 80; on dramatic 
craftsmansliip, 80; a "skeleton" 
play, 80, 81; start as a play- 
wright, 81; his part in the Civil 
War, 81 ; his newspaper work, 81 ; 
as a journalist, 81, 82; meets 
Charles Wyndham, 82; marries 
Miss Wyndham, 82; foreign 
models, 82; on theatrical con- 
vention, 83, 84; his feminine 
brightness, 84; "The Henri- 
etta," 84; "Baron Rudolph," 84; 
"Moorcroft," 84; and American 
themes, 84; "The Young Mrs. 
Winthrop," 84; previousness in 
themes, 85; accused of plagiar- 
ism, 85; his repartee, 86; society 
in his drama, 86, 87; as a crafts- 
man, 87; illustrates the laws of 
drama, 87, 88; the younger 
generation, 88; copyright, 88; 
founds the Dramatists Club, 88; 
bibliographical list of his plays, 
89 (note) ; and David Belasco, 
118; the Howard Bequests, 292; 
his Hbrary, 343, 344 



402 



INDEX 



Howe, Frederic C, on the moving- 
picture as a liberalizing force, 223 

HoweUs, W. D., and "The Gilded 
Age," 52; his farces, 63; plays on 
the stage, 64; and James and 
Garland, their theoretical views 
of drama, 64; his influence in 
literature, 90; quoted, 91; men- 
tioned, 308 

Hoyt, Charles, his satire, 271; 
plays of, 271 ; his weakness, 271 

Hudson-Fulton celebration, 245 

Hull House Players, The, 321, 322, 
327 

Hume, Sam, and his work, 323, 328; 
quoted, 329, 330 

Humor, American, 255, 270 

Humor and Congreve, 268 

Humor in American dramatists, 275 

Humor vs. wit, 270 

Humorists, American, 256; South- 
ern, 51 

Huneker, James, the critic, 369 

Hunter, Robert, 46 

"Hurricanes," 82 

Ibsen, mentioned, 4; and women, 
8; optimism in his pessimism, 8; 
and Tolstoy, 29; ahead of his 
time, 83; and Emerson, 233; 
and the commonplace, 234; and 
tragedy, 259 
Idea and the American drama, 25 
Importations, continental, 17 
Indian plays, 44, 45 
Insurgency, theatrical, 354 
Irving, Washington, and John 
Howard Payne, 65, 66 

"Jack Cade" and Forrest, 66 

James, Henry, and drama, 63, 64, 
308 

Jefferson, Joseph, and his ambition, 
165 

Johnston, Charles, defines Ameri- 
can humor, 270 

Jones, Henry Arthur, why an Eng- 
lish dramatist, 11; attitude to- 
ward literature and drama, 64, 
65; on realism, 236; as a dra- 
matic critic, 372 



Jones, J. S., "The People's Lawyer" 

quoted, 50 
Jones, Robert Edmond, 328 

Kant on laughter, 269 

Katharsis, the, 257 

Keene, Laura, 56 

Kennedy, John P., dramatization of 
his novel, " Horse-shoe Robin- 
son," 50 

Kenyon, Charles, and "Kindling," 
295; the Drama League and, 
295; his "Husband and Wife," 
295 

Kester, Paul, and "Don Quixote," 
264 

Kinetoscope, theatre, 200-214; 
management of the, 200; prob- 
lem of the, 200, 202; manager of, 
201; acting, 201; length of films, 
201; audiences, 202; institu- 
tional use of the, 202; a wise 
manager, 204; economics of the, 
204; defects in the performances, 
204; the "chaser," 205; the 
press-agent, 205; the Trust, 205; 
the Union, 206; timely element 
in films, 206; reporter, 206; Pas- 
sion Play, 206; the film "route," 
207; French actors, 207; con- 
ditions with American drama- 
tists, 207; French dramatists, 
207, 208; copyright, 208; "The 
Music Master," 208; eye-strain, 
210; improvements, 210; dangers 
in taking pictures, 211; drama- 
tizations, 212; pantomime, 212 

Klein, Charles, "The Lion and the 
Mouse," 11; mentioned, 28; his 
plays, 33; quoted regarding 
American drama, 33-35; an in- 
dependent manager, 357; plays 
published, 292; the Klein memo- 
rial, 293; and Broadhurst, 298 

Koch, Professor Frederick H., the 
work of, 331; his belief in com- 
munity playwriting, 331, 332 

Kotzebue, 47 

Kremer, Theodore, melodramatic 
formula of, 195, 196; the Clyde 
Fitch of melodrama, 196 



INDEX 



403 



Lamb, Charles, on tragedy, 231 ; on 
comedy, 269 

Laughter, value of, 267; defined by 
Hobbes, 267; defined by Kant, 
269 

Leacock, John, author of "The Fall 
of British Tyranny," 291 

Le Bon and the crowd, 239, 240 

Legitimate drama, the term, 190 

Leland, C. G. (Hans Breitman), on 
George H. Boker, 67 

"Les Miserables," first American 
edition of, 79 

Lewisohn, The Misses, and the 
Neighborhood Playhouse, 322, 
323 

Library, a general, and the drama, 
343 ; private, and the drama, 344 ; 
specializing in drama, 345 

Librettists, popular, 252 

Lighting, stage, use and misuse of, 
132, 133 

literary and closet-drama, our, 
59-72 

Literature and drama, 61, 62, 308, 
365; and the soil, 90; individ- 
ualistic and collectivistic tend- 
encies in, 3; vitality and na- 
tionality in, 5 

Literature, American, and Ameri- 
can characteristics, 51; Henry 
Arthur Jones on, and drama, 65 

Little Theatres, the craze for, 309- 
340; number and extent, 309; 
geographical distribution, 309, 
325; revolt of, and intentions, 
310, 318; book by Constance 
D'Arcy Mackay, 310; mis- 
placed enthusiasm, 311; move- 
ment compared with the British 
system of Little Theatres, 311, 
312, 315; the aloofness of some 
playwrights of the, 312, 313; 
Washington Square Players' Di- 
rector quoted, 313; Thomas H. 
Dickinson and the Wisconsin 
Dramatic Society, 314; Prov- 
incetown Players, 314; tumult 
of experimentation in, 316; a 
Director quoted as to purposes of, 
316; criticized by managers, 317; 



their failure and their hope, 318, 
327; early signs of revolt in, 318; 
self-conscious efforts, 319; Bos- 
ton and Philadelphia, 319; the 
philosophy of the movement, 
319; Washington Square Players 
cited, 319, 320; the laboratory 
idea, 320, 321; the Pittsburgh 
School of Technology's Depart- 
ment of Drama, 320; Hull House 
Players, 321, 322; Neighborhood 
Playhouse, 322, 323; Portman- 
teau Theatre, 324, 325; the one- 
act play and the, 325, 326; the 
playwright and the, 327; Hume 
and the Detroit Arts and Crafts 
Theatre, 328, 329; borrowed re- 
pertoires in the, 329, 330; prizes 
offered by, 330; Prairie Play- 
house, 331; Professor Koch and 
the University of North Dakota, 
331, 332; Little Country Theatre, 
of Fargo, 332; educational idea 
of, 332; Northampton Municipal 
Theatre, 332; the danger of the 
amateur in, 334; University in- 
terest in, 334, 335; dramatics at 
Dartmouth and at Oberlin, 334; 
Professor Baker and, 335, 336; 
dramatics at Yale, Harvard, 
Columbia, 336; the pioneer work 
of, 337; antagonism against, 337; 
Belasco on, 337, the immediate 
problem of, 338, 339; books and 
pamphlets on, 339, 340 

Local, danger of the, 179 

Local sense, and Clyde Fitch, 169- 
185 

Local touches, 53 

Locality, and life, 25; and the 
drama, 362, 363; sense of, and 
the American dramatist, 175 

Logan, C. A., and "Yankee Land," 
51 

Longfellow, dramas, 63; opinion of 
drama, 63; on poetry and prose, 
63 

"Lord Chumley," 120 

Lowell and the mystic, 232 

Lyceum Theatre and Steele Mac- 
kaye, 150 



404 



INDEX 



Macdowell Drama Fellowship, 242 
(note) 

Mackay, Constance D'Arcy, writes 
on Little Theatres, 310 

Mackaye, Percy, "Sappho and 
Phaon" and "Mater," 11; "The 
Scarecrow," 236; "The Canter- 
bury Pilgrims," 244; and the 
Comic Spirit, 264; and the com- 
mercial manager, 280; and 
drama, 364; and his father, 135, 
153; and W. C. De Mille, 136, 
137; and Stephen PhUlips, 137; 
humor and cynicism, 138; the 
poet, 138; biographical data, 138 
(note); plays, 138 (note), 139; 
ideas on democracy, 138, 141; 
his lectures, 139; critic of the 
theatre, 139, 140, 141; his work 
from 1910-1917, 153, 307; his 
improvement in technique, 307; 
"A Thousand Years Ago," 307; 
"The Canterbury Pilgrims" as a 
libretto, 307; his "Civic Thea- 
tre "mentioned, 310 

Mackaye, Steele, and his son, 135- 
153; and De Mille, 135; con- 
temporary dramatic authorship, 
137; early record of, 141; family 
of, 141; lectures on Delsarte, 142; 
the Civil War, 142; on the actor, 
142; exponent of Delsarte, 142, 
143; Edwin Forrest, 143; as 
manager, 143; his rashness, 143, 
144; collaborates with Tom 
Taylor, 144; begins to dramatize 
"Silas Marner," 144; career as 
actor, 144; as Hamlet, 145; his 
dramatic training, 145 ; his plays, 
145, 146; supported by Njnm 
Crinkle, 145, 149; his influences, 
146 ; ' ' Won at Last ' ' analyzed by 
acts, 146; the theatre of his day, 
146; and the Mallorys, 147; 
"Hazel Kirke," 147; opinion of 
the dramatist, 147, 148; the phi- 
losopher, 148, 150; theatricalism, 
148, 149; origin of "Anarchy," 
149; opinions on capital and 
labor, 149; on democracy, 149; 
at the Lyceum Theatre, 150; 



Columbian spectacle analyzed, 
150, 151; Spectatorium ana- 
lyzed, 151, 152; and his son, 153; 
family, 153 (note) 

Macready and sensationalism, 190 

Madison Square Theatre, and Be- 
lasco, 117; and Henry C. De 
Mille, 118; "milk and water" 
drama of, 118; the theatre, 118, 
136 ; Daniel Frohman and Frank- 
lin Sargent, 136 

Maeterlinck, Maurice, and Lamb, 
231; unseen forces, 231; on the 
unexpressed, 235; and the 
Greeks, 259; quoted on the 
tragical in daily life, 259; on the 
tragic spirit, 260; "The Life of 
the Bee," 260; "The Blind," 260 

Mallory Brothers, the, engage Be- 
lasco, 117; criticized, 136, 147 

Manager, the theatrical, and reno- 
vation, 40, 41 

Managerial prejudice, former, and 
American drama, 22 

Managers, the American, 56; Eng- 
lish, and'Boucicault, 76 

Manners, Hartley, "The House 
Next Door," and "Peg O' My 
Heart," 303 

Mansfield, Richard, his roles, 40; 
and Moli^re, 265 

Matthews, Brander, quoted, 49, 60, 
61, 62; and the closet-drama, 72; 
his course in drama, 230 (note); 
on the physical outlines of the 
theatre, 243 ; defines comedy and 
tragedy, 266; and his work in 
drama at Columbia University, 
336 

Mechanical drama, 203 

Melodrama, and human appeal, 32; 
changes in American, 32; con- 
cerning, 186-199; early types, 
186; the beginning of, 186; the 
term, 186, 188; and romanticism, 
187; advertising, 187; and the 
Radcliffe School, 188; in Eng- 
land, 188; Schlegel on, 188; Be- 
lasco, 189, 198; realism, 189; 
Walkley on, 189; miracle plays, 
189; characteristics of, 189; 



INDEX 



405 



reaction in, 190; "Macbeth," 
190; wild species, 190; the hair- 
line of, 191; Boucicault, 191; 
some famous, 191; accentuation 
in, 191; Owen Davis on, 192- 
194; Owen Davis on audiences, 
194; writers of, 196 (note); 
how to write, 197; conventions 
of, 197; bibliography, 198, 199 
Meredith, George, on comedy, 269 
"Metamora" and Forrest, 66 
Middleton, George, mentioned, 323 
"Military Glory of Great Britain, 

The," referred to, 291 
Mitchell, Langdon, "The New 
York Idea," 55; "Becky Sharp," 
283 
Moli^re and the Comic Spirit, 268 
Moody, William Vaughn, and "The 
Great Divide," 11, 24, 236, 377; 
his plays, 230; compared with 
"Children of Earth," 304 
Morality, imported, 26 
Moving-picture, educational possi- 
bilities of the, 211; harmful to 
the theatre, 214; progress of, 
since 1910, 215; encroachments 
on legitimate theatre, 216; struc- 
ture of the, 217, 218; the Cen- 
sorship Board, 217, 223; the 
actors and managers and plays 
in the, 218; influence on acting, 
219; "Treasure Island" as 
a, 219; "Twenty Thousand 
Leagues under the Sea " as a, 219; 
"Shenandoah" as a, 220; "The 
Birth of a Nation" as a, 220; 
Geraldine Farrar, the Metro- 
politan Opera, and the, 220; 
D'Annunzio's "Cabiria" as a, 
221; the rise of prices, 221; sta- 
tistics of the, 221 ; what the actor 
loses, 221; limitations of the, 
222; "Pierrot the Prodigal" and 
pantomime, 222; waste in the, 
222; the manufacturer's aim, 
223 ; Brian Hooker analyzes the, 
223; curi'ent events and the, 223; 
Frederic C. Howe on the, as a 
liberalizing force, 223; use of, in 
the Great War, 224; democratic 



grip of the, 224; limitations in 
"Peter Pan" and "The Poor 
Little Rich Girl," 224; actors 
whose technique suits the, 224; 
Otis Skinner and the, 224, 225; 
George Bernard Shaw and the, 
225, 226; bibliographical refer- 
ences on the, 226 

Mowatt, Mrs., and contemporary 
drama, 53; "Fashion," 53 

' ' Muck-raking ' ' and ' ' star-gaz- 
ing," 8 

Municipal Theatre, of Northamp- 
ton, Mass., 333 

Music and drama, relation of, 187 

Musical comedy and George V. 
Hobart, 252 

National Theatre, what is a, 284 
Nationality and fundamental dra- 
matic principles, 5 
Negro in American Drama, 46 
Neighborhood Playhouse, The, 322, 

323 
Newspaper dramatists, 377 
New Theatre, over-size of, 111; re- 
sults of, 276; idea of, 276; open- 
ing of, 277; concern of, 277 
object of the Directors, 277 
erection of, 278; name of, 278 
prejudice against, 281; initial 
period, 282; National Art 
Theatre Society and its Board, 
282; position in theatrical ac- 
tivity, 282; and the American 
dramatist, 282; and English 
actors, 283; its "stars," 283; in- 
tellectual ground for a, 283, 284; 
mistakes of the, 284; repertory, 
284; and the people, 284; hia- 
tus, 285; building designed by 
Conried, 285; first year, 285; 
problems of, 286; new building, 
286; financial loss, 286; situa- 
tion, 286 (note); Literary Di- 
rector, 287 Shakespearean pro- 
ductions, 287; other produc- 
tions, 287; referred to, 290 
New York, in 1842, 53; theatres in 
1882, 112; theatrical conditions 
in 1882, 117; as a theatre centre 



406 



INDEX 



285; Public Library and drama, 
345 

Nickelodeon, audiences, 203; press- 
agent of, 205; problems of the 
manager, 209; stage-managing, 
213; inspection of managers, 
209; and the Children's Court, 
211; the police, 211; perform- 
ance of "Macbeth," 213; police 
on Shakespeare, 213 

North Dakota, University of, and 
drama, 326, 331, 332; Professor 
Koch's activities, 331 

Novel-writing vs. playwriting, 170, 
171 

One-act play, its practice in Little 
Theatres, 326 

Page, Curtis Hidden, translation of 
Moli^re, 265 

Pageant-master vs. stage director, 
248 

Pageantry, 246 

Palmer, A. M., on the American 
drama, 56; his stock company, 
56; and the American drama, 77 

Parker, Lottie Blair, "Way Down 
East," 37 

"Pass," attractions of the, 359; 
evils of the, 367 

Passion Play, The, and the moving- 
picture, 217 

Patterson, Joseph Medill, and his 
plays, 296 

Paulding, James K., "The Lion of 
the West," 50 

Payne, John Howard, 66 

Peabody, Josephine Preston (Mrs. 
Marks), and "The Piper," 229, 
230 

Phonograph and the Virginia moun- 
tains, 203; tribal songs, 203 
(note) 

Pinero, A. W., mentioned, 4; inti- 
macy of "Trelawney of the 
'Wells,'" 111; and Clyde Fitch, 
170, 171 

Pittsburgh's School of Technology 
and its Department of Drama, 
320 



Play mounting, 155, 156, 157 

Play rehearsed, the, 158 

Plays, reading of, 290; extensi/e 

writing of, 362 
Playwrights, need for a school of 

American, 25; the American, 

169; the newspaper, 170 
Playwriting, elements in, 169, 377 
Poe, Edgar Allan, on modern 

drama, 54; Mrs. Mowatt's 

"Fashion," 54, 55 
Poel, WiUiam, 242 
Poetry of prose, 238 
Pollock, Channing, dramatization 

of "The Pit," quoted, 16 
"Poor Little Rich Girl, The," by 

Eleanor Gates, 306 
Portmanteau Theatre, The, and 

Stuart Walker, 324, 325 
Potter, Paul M., on dramatization, 

254 
Power, Tyrone (1st), and Hoboken, 

178 
Prairie Playhouse, The, Galesburg, 

111., 331 
Press-agent, 359, 360; superiority 

of the, over the dramatic critic, 

368, 369; authority of the, 373; 

stories, 373, 374; the old vs. the 

new, 374; organized work, 374 
Proctor and Keith, 252 
Prompt copies, 155 
Properties and effects, 158, 159 
Provincetown Players, The, 314; 

and the one-act play, 326; men- 
tioned, 329 
Public, educating the, 361 ; reading, 

and the theatre, 19 

Realism, 91 

Regeneration and disintegration of 
the theatre, 352-366 

Rehearsals, 128 

Reizenstein, Elmer, and his "On 
Trial," 301 

Renovation of past theatre suc- 
cesses, 39, 41. 

Repertory companies, 37 

Research, problems of, 341, 342 

Revivals, 246; significance of, 241 

Revolutionary dramas, 45 



INDEX 



407 



"Rip van Winkle," 50 (note) 
Rogers, Robert, author of "Pon- 

teach," 291 
Romanticism and melodrama, 187 
"Rose of the Rancho, The," and 

its "light plot," 129-132 

Sargent, Epes Winthrop, and his 
"The Technique of the Photo- 
play," 217 

Sargent, Franklin, and Belasco, 120 

Satire, American social, 52 

Scenery and the theatre, 361 

Scenes a faire (Sarcey) , 20 

Scenic effect, 127 

Schlegel and melodrama, 188 

"School for Scandal," 179 

Sensationalism, conventional, 196 

Shakespeare, Elizabethan spirit in, 
4 ; influenceof , 6 1 ; and comedy, 268 

Shaw, George Bernard, on the 
moving-picture, 225, 226; on 
Shakespeare, 238; mentioned, 
289; as a dramatic critic, 372 

Sheldon, Edward, 242 (note); "The 
Nigger," 287; his plays ana- 
lyzed, 296, 297, 298; his haste 
and his skill, 297; as a "play- 
doctor," 297; as a dramatizer, 
297, 298; lack of strength in 
"The Nigger," 297; lack of at- 
mosphere in "Romance," 298; 
his exuberant dramatic sense, 298 

"Shore Acres" and Henry George, 
97 

Situation, sense of, 169 

Skinner, Otis, and the moving-pic- 
ture, 224, 225 

Slave, the African, in American 
drama, 46 

Smith, Charles Sprague, and the 
People's Institute, 249 

Smith, Harry B., defines American 
drama, 13 

Smith, Richard Penn, 66 

South, the, and drama, 42 

Stadium, a, in New York (See 
Preface), 247, 248 

Stage designs, 156, 157; elements in 
lighting, 129; masses, 157; idea 
behind setting, 158 



Stock companies, value of, 38, 280, 

281; plays, 280, 281 (note) 
Stoddard, Richard Henry, on 

Boker's dramas, 68, 70 
Stone, John Augustus, 66 ; plays of, 

66 (note) 
Style, grandiloquent, of drama after 

1830, 59; and drama, 62, 63 
Sudermann mentioned, 4 
Sunlight, moonlight, and footlight, 

239-250 
Switchboard, David Belasco and 

the psychology of the. 111, 125; 

value of the, 124; use of the, 126 
Syndicate, the theatrical, 354; evils 

of the, 357 

Tarkington, Booth, and the Ameri- 
can spirit, 15 

Taste, early American theatrical, 42 

Taj^lor, Tom, and the American 
type, 51; Asa Trenchard, 86; and 
Steele Mackaye, 144 

Terms, dramatic, 256 

Theatre, commercialism of, 1, 353; 
education of audiences, 2; Ameri- 
can manager, 2; aloofness of, 2; 
occasional poet of the, 65; local 
manners and the, 73; sense of 
the, 124; amusement and the, 
164; the modern, 228; intro- 
spection and the, 231; worn-out 
models of the, 231; human need 
in the, 239; and the crowd, 239 
(note), 243, 244; civic thought 
and the, 240; communal feeling 
in the, 244; natural resources of 
the, 246, 250; out-of-doors, 246; 
civic, 249; National or New, 276- 
288; as a deproAancializing force, 
278; disintegration and regener- 
ation of the, 352-366; manager 
as a business man, 353; public 
verdict in the, 355; free-trade, 
356; endowment, 356; publicity, 
358; manager and his press- 
representative, 358; imagina- 
tion, 360, 361; scenery, 361; 
hero-worship, 361; poetic drama, 
363; Ideas in, 363; literary man 
in the, 364 



408 



INDEX 



Theatrical Clearing-House, 358 

Theatrical illusion, dangers of de- 
stroying, 360 

Theatrical interest, centering of, 
352 

Theatrical manager, the, 280 

Theatrical "open door," 359 

Theatrical organization, 360 

Theatrical profits, 364 

Theatrical Syndicate, bibliography, 
122 (note) ; work of, 279; menace 
of the, 279 

Theatrical Trust, evils of the, 355; 
excellence of, 358 

Thomas, A. E., his career and his 
plays, 302; W. P. Eaton on "Her 
Husband's Wife," 302 

Thomas, Augustus, defines Ameri- 
can drama, 12, 13; defect in, 13; 
"The Witching Hour," 83; at 
rehearsal, 157; career, 159-163; 
early attempts, 159 ; as reporter, 
160; his French technique, 160; 
"Alabama," 160; "In 'Miz- 
zoura,'" 160; "Arizona," 160; 
early career, 160; broad comedy, 
160; three plays of telepathy, 
161; debut as a dramatist, 161; 
list of plays, 161 (note); "Ala- 
bama," 162; Henry Watterson 
on "Alabama," 162; opinion of 
"Arizona," 162; value of the 
moment, 162; opinion of the 
theatre's province, 162; "As 
a Man Thinks," 162, 163; his 
growth, 163; his published plays, 
168; and the newspaper, 170; 
di^nsion of the United States, 176; 
referred to, 292; plays published, 
292 

Thompson, Denman, 102 (note) 

Thorndike, Professor Ashley, and 
"Tragedy," 256; on tragedy, 
256 

Tragedy, lofty, 60; and comedy, 
255, 256; Aristotle on, 257; and 
the Tragic Spirit, 257; and 
America, 258; and nationality, 
258; types of, 258; and form, 
261; new form of, 262; and the 
American people, 262; American 



response to, 262; and comedy, de- 
fined by Matthews, 266 

Tragical, the, in daily life, 259 

Tragic Spirit, the, 256; defined, 
260, 261; comedies containing 
the, 262 

Trust, the Theatrical, and Belasco, 
121, 122; excellence of the, 354; 
opposition of the, 354; methods 
against the insurgents, 355; and 
the "open door," 355, 356; and 
the actor, 356 

Tully, Richard Walton, "The Rose 
of the Rancho," 129-132 

Twain, Mark, "The GHded Age," 
39 

Tyler, RoyaU, 48 

Type, the American, 39, 49, 50 

"Uncle Tom's Cabin," 46 
University interest in Little 
Theatres, 334, 335, 336 

Vaudeville, 253; and the actor, 

253, 254; power of, 359 
Veiller, Bayard, his plays analyzed, 

300 
Vocero, the tribal, 239 

Walker, Stuart, and the Portman- 
teau Theatre, 324, 325 

Wallack galaxy, the, 56; Lester, 56; 
J. W., encourages Willis, 60; 
Lester, and the American drama, 
76,77 

Walter, Eugene, "The Easiest 
Way," 8, 377; his technique, 
294; "The Wolf," "Bought and 
Paid For," 294; his greatest 
play, "The Easiest Way," 294; 
"Fine Feathers" referred to, 295 

War, the Great, and the moving- 
picture, 224 

Warren, Mercy, as a dramatist, 43, 
291 

Washington, George, as a theatre- 
goer, 43 

Washington Square Players, the, 
313; Director Goodman quoted, 
313, 314; the organization's 
limitations, 320; and the one-act 



889 W 



INDEX 



409 



play, 326; mentioned, 328; 
challenges ire of David Belasco, 
337; further criticism of, 338 

Weber and Fields vs. Aristophanes, 
37 

Well-made play, the, 154 

Wendell, Professor Barrett, neglect 
of American drama, 346 

Williamsburg theatre, the, 42 

Willis, N. P., as a dramatist, 60, 61; 
and Forrest, 67 

Wisconsin Dramatic Society, 314 

Wister, Owen, and America, 14, 15 

Women dramatists, 376 

Woods, A. H., producer of melo- 
dramas, 195 



Woodworth, Samuel, and "The 

Forest Rose," 49 
Woolf, B. E., and "The Mighty 

Dollar," 39, 52 

Yale students and early American 
drama, 44; Dramatic Associa- 
tion, The, 242 

Yankee type, 49, 50, 51 

Yeats, W. B., quoted on the Irish 
National Dramatic Society, 311 

"Yellow Jacket, The," by Hazelton 
and Benrimo, 305, 306 

Zangwill, Israel, and "The Melting 
Pot," 237 
























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